


Foreigner's God

by tyomawrites



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2019-10-27 14:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17768564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyomawrites/pseuds/tyomawrites
Summary: Alternate Universe.All the rumours of notorious pirate captains having women who promise them good fortune are incorrect, as Vance Nottley finds. Captain Flint is the god of the sea, carrying all the power of the storm and waves. Captain Vane is the god of the land, and he carries all the passion of a forest fire. Their crews of supernatural power and even more so, supernatural knowledge.Flint and Vane, in all their glory, are gods that Vance is willing to fall to his knees and worship. However when he's forced to make the decision to leave Flint's crew for Charles, for the sake of his sanity, will Flint chase him?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is entirely self indulgent and I couldn't get this idea out of my head. woop woop

He’s told stories as he grows up on Nassau, the pirate captains are under spells, they have women who perform sacrifices for them and anoint them with blood to keep their luck and good fortune —as long as they stay in their women’s good graces. He’s told stories, that travel by English word of mouth that pirate captains are to be feared because the devil works through them, that they are demons the devil has fathered themselves.

He is raised in Nassau, where his mother arranges for them to go as she flees. They lasted six whole months on a ship, hunkering down against the cold until they arrive at Nassau. She flees from an abusive husband, who doesn’t appreciate her filling his head with stories of different Gods and the powers that they have over the world. She flees because she teaches him about the power of loyalty to gods of the seas, of the lands of the skies. She flees because he grows up with dreams about the future where he can either appease or become at least a part of the stories that she tells him. She flees because there is a fear in her about what he will grow up to be.

He is fifteen when his mother dies. On her deathbed, all she can do is repeat his name to him.  _ Vance Nottley, do not forget who you are. Vance, Vance. _ She warns him, that he is stronger than he thinks he is, that his name is important, and then between the coughs of her last breaths and as her eyes glow, she makes him promise that even if he does not keep his father’s name, he will keep his first.

He is seventeen when a man takes him in, after two years of scrounging and fighting around Nassau. He’s given a job, smithing with the blacksmitch as his apprentice. The work puts some muscle onto his body, roughs his fingers and gets him used to hard labour. He may gain some muscle but food in the blacksmith’s family is short, many mouths to feed, and he gives whatever he can spare to the youngest of children in the family, two girls aged four and five. 

When he’s nineteen, the blacksmith has to force him from his home, his wife is pregnant again, and they have no room nor the means to look after a growing teenager who’s almost a man. He doesn’t get angry with them, cannot blame them, instead, he gives them half of his last wages —that he had been given by the blacksmith in the first place—and wishes them good luck with the baby boy they’re soon to have. They promise to call him Vance. He smiles at them, and for a moment, he sees a glow in the wife’s belly, and the promise of a future for the baby boy.

He’s barely twenty when he meets Captain Flint, scourge of the seas, for the first time. First, he meets tall, sun-kissed blond who towers over him, in a fight in the inn, who covers his back and nurses his crooked nose a split lip when the offending patrons are thoroughly beaten. He waves his hand and then there’s a tankard of ale in front of him and two more men clapping his back with cheers and compliments.

Then, Mister Tall Blond and Handsome brings him back with the men who were cheering him on to a ship that he thoroughly recognizes from living in Nassau since his birth. He turns to him, and behind his eyes Vance can see a spark, and then comes Captain Flint —the Captain Flint—from where he’s standing with the rest of his men.

“Are you picking children for my crew now Billy?” The tall, sun-kissed blond has a name, and then he turns his attention to Captain Flint, properly turns his attention towards him and he’s taken aback but the absolute sparks in his eyes. They’re sea green, bright and clear, and behind that green he can see a glow and a brightness.

“He’s good in a fight, despite being scrawny.” Billy comments from behind him, his laughter isn’t hidden behind his voice. There’s a boom in Billy’s voice that wasn’t there when he was talking and yelling through the fight.

“Hey, I’m not-” He moves to protest. at being called scrawny, and then stops when things shift just slightly off centre.

“Not what? Scrawny? Look at you, you got the height and the build but you don’t have the right kind of muscle to use it.” The bluntness of the Captain catches him off guard before he chuckles. When he looks, really looks at him, ginger hair, sea green eyes that have a spark like lightning behind them and broad shoulders, he feels at ease here, standing opposite Captain Flint. It’s no wonder men are willing to join his crew. Despite the sparks in his eyes he feels totally and completely safe standing in front of the Captain.

“Yeah, I am, although I prefer to call myself lean.” He admits. The captain is right. He got his height from his father but his ma was the one with the broad shoulders and lanky frame, it makes him look lanky, scrawny, even with the muscle he’s built from hauling metal at the blacksmiths.. 

“What’s your name boy?” He should, bristle, at being called a boy, most men would, being born and raised on Nassau, but then he shrugs and smiles, sticks out his hand with a healthy amount of fear behind his smile, his shoulders are entirely relaxed as he does it..

“V-Vance, Vance Nottley sir.” His voice doesn’t really shake but his fingers do. How else is he supposed to respond to the man that is Captain Flint standing in front of him. Captain Flint reaches forward with his head tilting slightly to the side, grips his hand firmly and smiles. There’s a spark between their fingers that only he and the Captain seem to notice.

“And how did you meet our dear Billy?” The spark, he assumes, is what solidifies the Captain’s interest.

“He backed me up in a fight in the inn.” Billy chimes in, thank God, he doesn’t know how he’d actually reply to Captain Flint outside of his stuttered name. “Got a dislocated nose and split lip for his troubles, but helped without a comment or ask, just knew that I needed it.” It’s surprisingly all it takes is to have Flint ask Billy show him the ropes on the  _ Walrus. _

He learns, he’s smart, a quick study, Flint compliments, much to his surprise. He takes to it like a duck to water under Billy’s guidance, he follows Billy’s instruction, with the rigging and climbs up with Billy to secure the sails. He is where he should be.

Billy teaches him more than just how to tend to their ship. The sea is their mistress and other crews are the rest of the men that she tends to. Billy teaches him, runs through captains and their crews, who to avoid and who to befriend. Billy teaches him an important lesson about how there may be a God that every man claims to worship, but there is a god who rules the seas, and it comes in the form of sea-green eyes and ginger hair. 

When he tells Billy about the stories his mother told him, Billy ruffles his hair and laughs, a genuine laugh that’s deep in his chest. Billy tells him that the stories of the gods are true. 

Captain Flint exudes power. Vance sees it for the first time during a storm, waves crash against the hull of the ship, water sprays them and knocks them off their feet and the wood of the masts groan beneath the weight of the wind, and then Captain Flint stands. He stands with a hand curled around one of the rigging ropes and his feet are firmly planted on the wood of the deck and then the lightning crackles behind him and he sparks with power and command.

Vance learns and learns well, and he builds a life on the sea.

He prays to the god at the helm of their ship.

He finds himself a home.


	2. Chapter 2

Of all the members of other crews he’s manages to befriend when they’ve docked again in Nassau after he’s joined them for two years, it’s Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny, and their Captain, who doesn’t seem to despise him is Charles Vane. Charles Vane has a calm, predatory gaze as Vance sits with his crew.

It is Anne who catches his eyes first. Her sharp tongue is more than enough to get his attention and then Jack Rackham speaks and he can’t hold back the laughter in his chest. It’s surprising, how quickly they become friends, the precedent of their crews slip away, Anne doesn’t flinch when he tucks fingers into her hair and gushes over the colour, he notices how her eyes glow slightly when he compliments her. Vance notices that Jack’s eyes are brighter than normal, when Jack’s slightly surprised that Anne gives him a smile instead of holding a knife to his throat for touching her. She asks him how he keeps his long hair so neat, how his braids are so clean. 

He tells her his ‘secret’ dramatically, theatrically and openly. He produces a jar of coconut oil that he combs his hair and untangles it with before he braids it and pins it out of his face. He hands it to Anne, asks her to keep it, instructs Jack on how and when to use it in her hair. They bond over how to keep their hair and then tease Jack about how short and unruly his hair truly is. 

Charles Vane takes to him kindly, although warily, and he notices the same spark in his eyes that he’s seen in Flint’s, although it’s more reminiscent of a fire sparking than the crackle of lightning. Turns out, there’s more than one god roaming the seas and porting at Nassau. Charles divulges his status in front of Anne and Jack while they’re drinking in a tent. Anne and Jack too, are not as powerful as Charles or Flint, but are a god and goddess in their own rights.

It’s become their go to. They become a usual sight, the three of them in Nassau —and sometimes Charles— when the  _ Walrus _ and the  _ Ranger _ are docked at the same time for a similar number of days. It wasn’t uncommon to find him with Jack and Anne laughing over a couple of tankards of ale. 

Anne asks him once, if he’s a god. He tells her, he doesn’t know, just knows that he can see something that glows behind their eyes, can feel them sometimes when he touches their skin. Like how he can feel warmth from Jack when he brushes his arm or shoulder, how he knows he’s touching water when he touches Anne’s hair. How he can feel heat and passion and fire coming from Charles when the Captain leans against him after they’ve been drinking. He mentions how Billy feels like rock, stone that’s in the walls of a house, welcoming and safe, a force that cannot be moved. He describes John as cold, not a bad kind, but the comfort of a cold breeze in the middle of the hot sun. And he tells them about how every time he touches Flint, there’s physical and literal sparks between them, and sometimes he can see little lighting patterns on his fingers or wherever Flint has brushed against on his body.

They’re intrigued about what he could be.  _ Pirate crews don’t take on humans. _ Anne tells him, it sounds like a warning. Jack surprisingly is well read, pulls out a few ,books, bestiaries, that contain lists and lists and informations on the supernatural and they flip through the pages searching. Their searches are fruitless, there’s very little that matches his description and Jack suggests maybe he’s something they haven’t seen before.

Something strange happens soon after. It’s one of the times they’re docked in Nassau, the  _ Ranger  _ is docked the same time, Anne waited for him on the docks alone, and then took him to meet Jack at the brothel. It’s not that he actually likes the girls at the brothel, he’s not really, interested, but they’re kind enough to let him pay for a room where he can pour himself a bath and relax, and sometimes he’ll let one of the girls sit and wash through his hair.

He’s just gotten into the room he’s bought, and he’s stripped out of most his layers. He tosses his coat and vest onto the bed and stares at them for a moment. Drawing his bath is no hardship, and then he slides into the tub and warm water and lets out a groan. He lolls his head against the edge of the tub and closes his eyes. He rubs the sponge that one of the girls had left in the room for him over his chest and sighs in relief.

“Why do you smell like that horrid cheroot that Vane likes to smoke?” He jumps in the tub and water splashes against the side. Flint is standing in his room, at the foot of his bed with his arms by his side.

“Charles handed a couple to me, on his way out?” He reaches over the side of the tub towards the table next to him and picks up one of the rolled cheroots that Charles handed to him. 

His surprise is plainly plastered onto his face when Flint storms over and  snatches the cheroot out of his hand and flings it across the room, and straight out the window he’s probably come through. “Hey! It’s pretty good you know, acquired taste and all but still, I like them.” He settles back down into the tub and lets the water splash over his chest.

‘I’m sorry.  _ Charles? Jack? _ You’re on a first name basis with them?” Flint sounds offended. He wasn’t hiding his friendship with Vane’s crew, and tells him as much.

“Well they asked be to called that, I’m bein’ polite is all and I’ve been hanging around Jack and Anne for a while sir, I just ran into Charles after I saw Jack earlier.” Flint’s jaw drops slightly, and then his mouth curls into a frown and then there’s a slight smell of burnt wood and smoke curls from underneath where Flint is standing.

“You’ve been spending time with him? Vane?” Vance shakes his head and drops one of his hands into the water.

“Not really, he’s just around when I go to see Jack.” He shrugs and slinks further down into the tub as Flint glares. “Jack’s a nice guy and well he’s super sweet when he’s not bein’ murderous about someone insulting An—Wait a minute? Why does any of that matter? Is it because he’s a part of Vane’s crew?” He didn’t know his Captain was that adamant against him being friends with Charles’s crew, especially since their friendship had been going on for a while.

“No.” Flint is gruff and he turns away slightly.

“I promise Captain. Jack and I are just friends, He has a head for numbers and he’s got a sharp tongue. I like it.” Vance tries to explain, wincing when he realizes how his words might sound.

“ _ You like it? _ ” Flint almost sounds like he’s scandalized.

“Well yeah, he’s good at conversation and he’s got his wits about him, and he and Anne make really good company after we’ve docked.” Vance has to sit back up in the tub, and slings his elbow over the side of the tub to turn towards Flint. “Hold on, are you mad that I’m friends with them?” 

“Silver is good at conversation and he’s got his wits about him? I don’t see you getting cosy with him?” Flint dodges his question.

“Yeah but every time I talk to Silver it feels like all he’s doing is looking for leverage over me.” He furrows his brow and turns half his body and crosses his arms over the edge of the tub. “Capt’n, really what’s going on? Is it something to do with Jack? Charles? I can stop smoking the cheroot if that’s what’s bothering you?”

“Don’t worry about it.” One minute Flint is looking at him like he’s pondering the existence of the sun—like he could ever cause the Captain to ponder—standing in the middle of his room, and then Flint is out of his room and nowhere to be seen, the only evidence of him being in the room is the open window and scorch marks on the floor.

“Um. What just happened?” He takes a moment, and looks down longingly at the water he’s settled in before he sighs and pulls himself out. Once he’s patted himself dry and his wet hair twisted into a bun above his head. He goes to find Anne and Jack, and runs into Captain Vane instead. 

Charles clambers to getting a hand onto his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Charles murmurs lowly, he searches his face, curious, both hands clutching his shoulders. With a confused expression, he nods, and then Charles is physically turning his head to look into a mirror. Vance’s hair is frizzy and when he runs his fingers through the front, the strands get caught around his knuckles, it’s almost like he’d been standing outside on a particularly humid day, or been in a lightning storm.

“I think I’ve upset Flint.” Charles gives him a frown, ponders for a moment, sighs and then pulls him aside properly, back up towards his rom. He pauses, when he spots the scorched wood, before his frown deepens.

“Vance I think it’s time someone talks to you about something important. About yours and my crew.” Charles sits him down in a chair and pours him a drink. He takes a deep breath, sits down opposite him and there’s a glow behind his eyes, and then he starts explaining.

 

* * *

 

Charles Vane is intrigued by the boy who’s made quick friends with his quartermaster. Jack usually attracts people, easily, with his schmoozing and sharp tongue, it’s one of the very reasons he still keeps Jack as their quartermaster and hasn’t given the man his own ship to captain yet. That and he’d miss Jack and Anne too much and he values his sanity out at sea.

Then of course comes along a boy, barely Anne’s height with the longest hair he’s ever seen. It’s done into possibly hundreds of neat braids that hang down his back, and they shine even amongst the dirt and grime of Nassau. Vance, Vance Nottley. From where he’s sitting he hears the boy introduce himself to Jack and the three of them, yes even Anne, fall into conversation over their tankards of rum.

He’d half expected Anne to gut the lad when he’d touched her hair. Anne wasn’t welcoming to anyone who wasn’t Jack, and Charles himself has only had the pleasure of touching her hair twice the entire time he’s known her, and that’s taken him years to achieve. But Vance puts his fingers in Anne-Bonney’s hair and doesn’t get gutted, instead he earns a smile from her. He has to make an introduction.

He sidles over to them under the guise of needing to talk to Jack, and honestly, he always does, there’s something that always needs jacks attention in regards to the crew, whether it be food supplies, complaints, anything to do with the common fund. Vance is alert, even with the amount he’s seen him drink, and the closer Charles get’s to him, he can feel energy just radiating off of him. Energy he recognizes.

He speaks to Jack, three or four sentences about the issue at hand that actually does need attending too, and then his eyes drop to the boy who’s slunk down slightly in his chair like he’s about to hide. Charles reaches out, holds his hand out for the boy to shake. Vance looks at him stupidly, blearily, like he hasn’t entirely realized what is going out, and he stutters a response to his greeting. Charles immediately likes him, he has potential, too bad that Flint had gotten to him first.

Now somehow, he’s been given the responsibility to explain to Vance, what he exactly is, because clearly his own Captain won’t do it.

Besides, he might consider Vance an ally, a colleague, a friend.

It’s how he ends up dragging Vance, who is confused with his hair still wet, dressed in clean clothes, into his room that’s paid for, and starts into a history lesson.

 

* * *

 

“Have any of you seen the Captain?” 

“No?” He gets the same answer over and over from everyone he asks. The entirety of Nassau seems to have lost track of Flint, or their information is somehow missed timed and any leads he approaches result in dead ends. His hair is a mess from how many times he’s run his fingers through it, his braids have fallen out of the tie that held them in a tight ponytail.

The sun is high above his head, it’s midday and he can’t help the fact that he’s sweating in the thin material of the shirt he has tucked into his pants. Nassau has and always will be too warm for him now that he’s spent a few years on the seas.

“You’re looking for Flint?” John slides up to him, gives him a grin and he frowns.

“I’m guessing you know where he is. What’s the catch Silver?” It’s not that he doesn’t like John, he appreciates the aura that John gives off, the cooling breeze that soothes on a hot day, but John himself prys and picks at your words and Vance doesn’t appreciate it. His words don’t have hidden meanings.

“When do I not?” John looks smug, and his grin turns to a smirk. “He’s in his quarters on the ship.” Before Vance can move, John is grabbing his arm. “Before I let you storm in there to bother the Captain, want to tell me what you said to him to get himself all worked up?”

 “Nothing that you need to worry about.” John squeezes his arm and tugs him closer for a moment. 

“Considering that you’re the reason that Flint has been locked up in his quarters for a day and a half, I think it is something I need to worry about.”  The cold from John’s fingers spread up his arm for a moment, and then he let’s go and the cold fades away.

“I just want to talk to him okay. It’s important.” John pauses and looks at him, really looks at him and then steps back.

“Okay.” 

He makes his way up to Flint’s quarters, hesitates in front of the door before knocking. The door opens, and Flint’s neutral expression turns into a frown. Before he can close the door completely, Vance sticks his foot out quickly into the gap, wincing slightly when the door catches on it.

“Captain wait. We need to talk about something.” Flint huffs, but lets him push into the room and close the door behind him.

“Well?”

“Charles told me about the prophecy.” He blurts out after hesitating. 

The mention of Charles makes Flint frown. He can feel it, when the hair on his arms stand on its ends. Whenever Flint is annoyed or irritated the air sparks around them. 

“What of it?”

“Did you know when you let me on board?” He’s a demigod, or at least, he fits the bill for it. The signs are all there when Charles describes the story to him. Children of gods and men, who are far and few in between, who may have unimaginable powers. “That I’m. I’m a demigod? That I’m something that’s powerful and—is that what my mother warned me about?” His voice cracks slightly. Demigods can see the powers of gods, but until their own powers manifest they just look like any other supernatural beings, Charles tells him. Charles explains that he’s possibly a demigod and that one of his parents has possibly given him untold powers.

“I knew you were something.” Flint admits. “I didn’t know what but when I shook your hand I felt it. You felt it too.” Sea green eyes meet his own dark ones, Vance remembers the spark when their hands touched, and then Flint is turning away from him. “Then you stayed on this ship and I saw it in you, your powers awakening, barely coming together.”

He never knew his father, but he told Charles about the glow behind his mother’s eyes before she died.  _ There’s a prophecy that hails from hundreds of years ago. _ Charles sounds apologetic and then continues to tell the story, _ that the age of piracy will come to its peak, and the cause of it is a demigod.  _

“They haven’t manifested yet.” Flint is still talking to him. “Your powers. I can’t feel them yet fully but I get a sense from you, I’ve guessed something maybe sea based, or wind based at best.” He thinks maybe Flint might be rambling out everything he knows.

“Captain.” It’s soft, so quiet that it doesn’t get Flint’s attention. “Captain.” He raises his voice and then Flint pauses.

“I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t certain, and you didn’t know about the prophecy either.” Flint looks, ashamed, concerned? He can’t pin the expressions that flit across his face. “But one thing I could see was that Charles, Anne, Jack, they were all taking an interest in you and—”

“You got jealous.” He interrupts, frowns and then steps forward. “You thought that the prophecy—if I was ever a part of it—was talking about Charles and his crew, not you, because I’m friends with them.”

“That is not jealousy.” Flint sounds oh so very jealous when he says it, the corners of his lips are turned downwards and his jaw is clenched. “I wasn’t jealous about the prophecy.”

“Then what is it? Because you’ve been hiding up here for a day and a half all because of what? That I’ve been friends with another crew? If that isn’t jealousy I don’t know what is Captain.” He hesitates, pauses before he frowns. “What is it that you’re so afraid of?” 

“I’m not afraid.” Flint steps closer to him, growls the words out low and in his face. “Don’t for a second think that I am.” He backs him against the door as he stares intimidatingly.

“Then tell me.” He pauses, and then drops his head. “You’re my Captain sir, my  _ Captain _ ,” He stresses. “If there’s something that, if I’ve done something, if it’s because I’m friends with Charles’s crew if.” He wrings his hands in front of him, between Flint’s body and his. “If it has something to do with me being a  _ demigod _ of all things, I can leave or there must be something I can do.” 

“Stop.” Flint hisses at him and presses closer, until his back is flat against the door. His skin prickles and when Flint gets closer, he can feel the electricity under Flint’s skin. Flint drops his eyes from his face and Vance feels his fingers twitch at his sides. Flint’s fingers brush against his hips and they spark against his clothes. When he lifts his head to meet his eyes, they’re bright, bright and glowing and then Flint is pressing their foreheads together. “Stop thinking it’s about the prophecy.” 

“Then why?” He asks when the tip of Flint’s nose brushes against his. 

“Shut up.” Flint grips the back of his head and pulls him in, knocks their foreheads against each other accidentally as he presses his lips against Vance. He makes a muffled noise of surprise before he’s gripping onto Flint’s shoulders. Flint pushes up against him, presses a thigh between his legs, his fingers spark at the back of Vance’s head.

Something sparks behind him, a crash, something akin to a small explosion that splits them apart from each other. Flint is breathing heavily, his expression unreadable. Vance drops his head back against the door. His chest is warm, and the front of his leather pants—why did he choose to wear leather—are unbearably tight. 

“Fuck.” He whispers and brushes the back of his hand over his mouth. Flint nipped at his bottom lip and when they brushed against his hand they felt puffy. Flint lifts his gaze to him, and then the corner of his mouth turns downwards.

“Now you know.” Flint turns away from him.

He pants, against the door. Flint doesn’t look at him, but neither of them say anything else. He takes a deep breath, steps forward, pushing himself off the door. 

“Captain.” His voice is soft, but he reaches out, grips Flint’s bicep tightly. Flint jolts when he wraps his fingers around his bicep. He turns around. “Captain.” He doesn’t actually know what he wants to say. Flint lets him move closer, until he’s crowding Flint’s personal space. “Can I?” It’s only polite that he asks, as he still has his fingers curled around Flint’s tense bicep.

Flint’s expression shifts from defensive, to something unreadable, and then it softens and his eyes darken into something Vance would describe as an eye of a storm. “Yes.” Flint leans into his space. “Please.” 

Vance shifts, straightens his back and leans in to brush his lips against Flints. Flint kisses like he fights. Kisses like he leads, commanding, strong, unmoving, but then he moves with the kiss and backs Vance over towards his cot, and hand dropping between their bodies to grope the front of his pants. The backs of Vance’s knees hit the edge of the cot and then Flint is pushing him onto the cot and then crawling over him, barely breaking the kiss before he’s caging Vance under him.

Flint presses his hips to his, grinds, ruts. His erection presses hot and hard and when Flint pulls away to breathe he tucks his fingers under the waistband of Flint’s pants to touch, grasp and tug at Flint’s cock, mimics what he would do with his own. 

Flint grunts, then moans in his ear and then he’s sliding down his legs, peeling his leather pants off his thighs and arse, and then Flint leans down and takes the head of his cock into his mouth. He whines, it’s been a while since he’s actually enjoyed someone touching him like this to this extent. Flint’s fingers grip into his hips, blunt nails dig into skin and his fingers shock him, leave lightning patterns across his skin. 

Flint fucks him with his mouth until he’s gasping and whining and  _ begging _ for more, until his fingers have twisted into his hair and have yanked the tie out of it so that there’s ginger hair falling past his face. Flint pulls away and smirks at him and looks like he’s going to wreck Vance, before he tucks his hands under his ass and lifts him slightly up to peel his pants the rest of the way off his legs.

Flint clambers off of the bed, goes over to desk and fumbles in the drawer for a vial of oil that he raises along with an eyebrow. Vance’s shirt still covers his front, and to Flint it looks obscene, tanned thighs flexing as Vance pulls himself to his knees and sits back onto his heels, his cock barely covered by the tunic of his shirt. 

Flint saunters over, slides his hands across Vance’s chest over his shirt, and then dips his hands down to his waist. Vance ducks his head and hands to pull at his tunic from the waistband of his pants.

“Why the fuck are your pants so tight but your shirts aren’t?” Vance mutters as he’s licking his bottom lip. He fumbles with Flint’s waistband and pushes his shirt up to drag the pads of his fingers over his abs. Flint is broad and tense underneath his fingers, but he looks gorgeous, with freckles smattered all over his skin. He pulls Flint’s pants down his thighs, he has to swallow when he sees Flint’s cock, hot and hard amongst neatly trimmed ginger curls.

“Coming from you.” Flint chuckles and nudges his foot against the leather pants on the floorboards. He leans back when Flint runs a hand through his hair, tangling it in his fingers and pulls. He lays back in Flint’s cot properly, tugs his shirt up with his fingers playfully and spreads his legs when Flint uncorks the vial of oil.

Flint presses his fingers into him eagerly when he tilts his hips. There isn’t much of words between them as he works one finger in, and then two. Vance gasps, whimpers, whines and bears down on Flint’s fingers, twists his hips when Flint curls his fingers and hits a spot inside him that makes sparks fly. 

Flint groans and there’s a slight smell of smoke as Flint pushes between his legs while prepping him. His eyes are half hooded as they’re trained on his fingers and his free hand is clutching Vance’s thigh. His fingers spark and shock him, make him clench around his fingers. 

Flint props his legs around his hips after he removes his fingers, slicking his own cock with the oil. When Flint pushes in, there’s a burn and stretch and Vance gasps and scrambles at his shirt and at Flint’s sides, pulling him closer. Flint pulls him onto his cock until his arse is pressed against his hips and he’s sunken in to the hilt inside him.

Flint fills him up, presses so deep and so far that Vance can practically feel his pulse from the inside. Flint experimentally rolls his hips and Vance throws his head back with a moan. He starts a slow pace thrusting, slides one hand into his hair while the other grips at his hips. Flints fingers spark and his eyes get brighter while he starts to thrust in earnest.

Both their moans echo off the walls unashamedly. Flint isn’t so rough that it hurts, but he still grips and thrusts until Vance can feel it echoing through him. He grabs at Flint’s abdomen and sides, mewls when Flints hands dig into his hips and changes the angle of his thrust. He pummels that spot inside him, sending shockwaves of burning pleasure up and through his body. His hands go from Flints abdomen to tugging and jerking his own cock. 

Vance’s chest is hot, his heart pounds in his throat as he can feel Flint pounding him. With each shockwave Flint’s thrusts send through him and each twist of his wrist, his thumb teasing his slit, he feels the tightness in his chest get worse.

He pants, breathes out hotly when Flint leans over him to mouth at his throat. Everything is warm, warm and getting hotter, Flint’s mouth on him, the pulse of his cock inside him, the ache in his muscles as everything tightens. He loses his breathe when he shudders, the coil in his stomach bursts unexpectedly as Flint pounds against his prostate and his cock jerks. He seizes around Flint, clenches down on him while he cums and grabs onto his back with his free hands until he’s sure he’s drawn blood on Flint’s shoulder with his blunt nails. 

When Flint pulls away to look down at Vance. The sight of him splayed out and jerking, the whites of his eyes are showing, his eyes are glowing, bright and unbridled while his head is thrown back and his mouth is parted in a silent yell. Flint clutches his cheek, gasps at how unbelievably tight that Vance gets, holds him close and feel the warmth, crackling energy that pours from every one of Vance’s pores.

Vance’s silent scream turns into one with sound, and he scrambles and touches and gropes and feels desperately with his hands. Everything is so hot and vivid and he can  _ feel  _ everything around him. Flint jerks above him, feeling an influx of power roll off him in waves. It knocks the breath out of his chest and then Flint is cumming with one hand clutching onto Vance’s jaw and the other wrapped around his bicep, and he’s pressing an opened mouth kiss to Vance’s lips.

Flint collapses onto him, panting heavily as their chests press together. Neither of them want to move. For Vance, everything suddenly hurts, everything , every one of his nerves is sensitive and raw and he mewls brokenly when Flint’s hips twitch and he shifts slightly inside him.

“Shh.” Flint shushes him, soothes him by stroking his cheek with his thumb. Vance twitches, shakes and then feels a warmth in his chest that feels too hot for him to manage but everything else feels so cold. Where Flint touches him feels like there’s electricity thrumming under his skin. Flint brushes his lips against his cheek, and then his mouth again and captures him into another kiss. By the time they break away, Vance realizes it was to distract him from the sensation of Flint pulling out of him.

Flint is gentle with him, turns him over slightly, just so he can slot his almost naked body against his back and half-spoon him. Flint wraps an arm around his shoulders so that he can tuck his head into the curve of his shoulder. Flint strokes his collarbone and his chest, over the marks he left, and with his other hand, over the soon to be bruise rings on his hips from where his fingers were gripping, Vance realizes something that makes him chuckle despite how sore he feels. 

He doesn’t know how he’s going to tell Charles, Jack and Anne that his powers manifested while Flint was fucking him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idfk what i did to this chapter and chapter four, they both got written in a completely different style from my other chapters. I'm so confused send help
> 
> it was also written at like 4am so please, tell me if there are mistakes n typos.

The first time Vance ever asked Charles if he can join his crew was seven months after his power manifested, two days before the  _ Ranger _ had to leave Nassau, a day before the  _ Walrus _ was going to have to set out for another prize that Flint claimed they could retrieve. It took Charles by surprise.

Vance didn’t doubt Flint’s fortune, his good luck, but his Captain had been distant with him, even when Vance was half fucked out in his bed. Flint was a whirlwind of emotions, possessiveness and gentleness across his body. The marks that he didn’t leave from his fingers cover his shoulders and collarbones, sucked hard enough that they lasted for close to two weeks. Flint was sweet when Vance had his back pressed to his chest. Flint slung an arm around his shoulders and stroked his fingers across his collarbones and the marks he left behind.

It affected them outside the bedroom. No one was practically allowed to touch him, lest they were faced with a grumbling Flint and scorch marks littered across the floor, even if they were steadying him from the rock of a boat or they helped him down from the rigging. At the same time, Flint never made a move to treat him with anymore interest than one of his possessions. Vance was not a possession.

Vance, as much as Flint made him feel things, felt entirely helpless. The barrage of emotions that he felt, were far too deep and far too much for what he and Flint actually were, with whatever label was tacked onto them. With whatever they had the potential to be.

He sat with Charles around a small circle metal table, sipping on mugs of rum when he leaned forward to ask him. Vance leaned forward and whispered the plea like he was ashamed, but he didn’t look confused, just concerned. He leaned in and crossed his arms on the table between them.

“Are you sure?” 

“Please think about it?” Vance pleaded with him as his eyes scanned the brothel with a hint of fear. If anyone overheard him, Vance was ninety, almost a hundred percent sure it would get back to John, or even Flint himself. “If you’ll have me when I need it, I’ll ask for a vote from the crew.” There was a slightest hint of desperation in his voice.

“You’ll have your answer when we get back.”  Charles leaned back in his chair. “You promise me you’ll stay safe out there.” 

Their raid went off without a hitch, and then when he’d arrived back in Nassau, he waited three days on the beach away from the rest of his crew celebrating in the inn, before the Ranger finally weighed anchor and then Charles whispered into his ear, holding onto him in a tight hug. “Yes, whenever you need it.” 

He flinched when Charles squeezed his arms around him, and then the older man spun him around and tugged up his shirt. An ugly bruise was spread out across his lower back and a low rumble starts in Charles’ throat.

“It was an accident.” They’d snuck down into the holdings, Vance, helpless to the dark and hungry look that Flint had given him. Flint had been trying to steady him while they were rutting against each other. He tripped backwards as the ship rocked and he slammed back into one of the crates with the full force of Flint’s weight on top of him. A new set of lighting shapes are settled on top of the bruise, winding up his back. Vance flinched when Charles traced them, an audible whine left his lips.

“Christ. Vance has anyone looked at that.?” Charles asked slowly. His mouth went dry as Vance shook his head. Vance shifted, and so did the air around them. Anne and Jack shout as they tackle Vance into the ground. Vance winced underneath them, before he laughed as Jack ruffled his hair.

Charles watched with fond eyes as his quartermaster patted Vance’s hair, smoothing through the numerous braids. Charles vowed to himself as he watched them, he was going pull Vance away from the  _ Walrus  _ as soon as Vance asked him too.

 

* * *

 

The thing between him and Captain Flint was at a standstill. They’d gone on countless of raids since his powers had manifested. But the current raid they were on was different. Some days, Flint was entirely too willing to drag him into his quarters and have his way with him until he’s marked up and his tailbone is sore—and his marks are on Flint.

But then some days, Flint could barely look at him or touch him and the rest of the crew had to practically throw themselves out of Flint’s ways because Flint’s expression was stormy and dark. He had some form of feelings for Flint, longing, desperate, budding fondness for the look in Flint’s eyes when they faced each other in bed.

He would never ever tell Flint to his face.

Vance refused to talk about it with anyone. The only people who knew about it, that weren’t on the ship, that weren’t Flint and himself, were Billy and Silver. Billy shot him a concerned glance when Flint slammed the doors and stomped around on the deck while he was dealing with their precious, heavily sought after prize down in the holdings. He shrugged mostly to himself, whatever was bothering Flint was essentially not his problem.

As professional as Flint claimed to be, he clearly couldn’t keep it out of their working relationship. Whatever thing that they had, had Vance sidelined. He was taken off the vanguard, left behind on the ship, and he was isolated on the damn Walrus, his own home. Whether it was because Flint didn’t want to commit to him, or it was something else, but he found it harder and harder to pretend that he didn’t have feelings for Flint.

Their prize came easily enough, incredibly so. The captain of the ship they raided was entirely a coward, a snivelling weasel when he caught the sight of the black and tried to buy his survival at the cost of his cargo and crew. Flint didn’t listen to his, it was plain to see that his cries were falling on deaf ears. Vance sidled up over to the man with a dagger in hand, waving it playfully as the man’s desperation irritated him.

John pulled him down towards the captain’s cabin to go through the books and the captain’s logs with themm. There wasn’t much to rifle through, the accounts and inventory books were horribly unorganized. They made the back of Vance’s eyes ache. When the both of them tried to read the Captain’s log, John sighed exasperatedly and gave up, staring down at the almost illegible mess. The Captain’s writing was almost illegible and unreadable. John helped him carry out the numerous books that he would have to go through up onto deck, handing them off to Billy to carry them over to the  _ Walrus _ .

“What did you find?” Flint sidled up to the both of them. John immediately started complaining about the Captain’s terrible handwriting and incapability to write a proper sentence with punctuation and grammar. Vance was occupied with the accounts and inventory log, still clutching onto the hardback book in his hand, barely listening to John’s tirade, with the book propped open to read the scribbles of writing in it.”

“Vance?” Flint turned his attention to him and it shook him out of his stupor and he glanced up from the book. 

“Hmm?” He met Flint’s eyes. “Just accounts and inventory.” He closed the book with one hand and waved it around to punctuate his words.

It was Billy who ended up telling him that they were four days from Nassau, four days more that he had to endure before he could rest and then vehemently vent to Jack, Anne and Charles—if the Ranger was even docked in Nassau by the time they get back—about Flint being an utter arsehole. Then he, Charles, Jack and Anne will drink and laugh and stumble back to the  _ Ranger’s  _ crew’s tents and they’ll sleep it off and suffer headaches together the next day.

Two of the four days passed in a painful flurry of preparation. Inventory was taken and John tasked him with taking stock and preparing the inventory for them to sell, an attempt to keep him busy beneath the deck, down in the holdings where he had to admit, he was hiding from Flint. He checked, double checked, scribbled down in neat thin strokes the inventory count and the estimated prices (like Jack taught him how to), and then calculated the total earnings of their prize.

Billy ended up coming down the stairs with a bowl of dinner with him. It smelt like stew, as Vance lifted his head.

“Randall didn’t spit in my bowl did he?” Vance eyed the stew like it was about to attack him. Billy chuckled and placed it on top of one of the barrels he was currently inspecting. Billy had his own bowl tucked into his other hand and a spoon between his fingers.

“No promises, I didn’t see him pour it, John gave it to me.” Billy shrugged and sat down at the table propped up behind him, propping his feet up on the desks.

“Alright then he’s definitely gone and spat in it.” Vance frowned and moved the bowl away from the barrel, turning his attention back to his work, although he kept his voice light-hearted.

“You’re still going to eat it anyway right. Two more days until we don’t have to rely on his cooking, and I haven’t seen you eating much lately.” Two more days until they were back in Nassau, two more until he had to confirm his decision with Charles. Two more until he’d walk away from Flint.

“Yeah, just gotta finish inventory first.” 

Billy frowned at him and pauses in his eating, lowering his bowl from his face. “I thought you already finished the inventory? John was bragging about the earnings.”

The admission had Vance freeze before he sighed and turned to face Billy.

“Stuff’s going missing. I’ve counted four, five times in the last five hours Billy and every time I do it again and write it down something’s always missing.” He grabbed at the account book on the other side of the table and showed it to Billy, flicking through the pages where he had underlined some of the missing products.

“That’s impossible, the only people that have been down here are you, me, John and Captain, besides, wouldn’t all the things that have been going missing need to be moved somewhere, we’ve been at sea for almost a week? There’s nowhere to put any of it.”  Billy leaned forward and propped his knees onto his elbows, staring at the pages.

“That’s why I’m so confused, I can’t figure out what the fuck is going on.” 

“It’s also why you haven’t come out of here in two days.” Billy’s expression shifted into concern as he said the words, realization dawning over him.

“I mean, apart from hiding from our Captain being terrifying, yes?” Vance leaned his hands on the table. “I can’t tell him about this, think about it Billy, he’s so pissed off and no one fucking knows why, I can’t add all this onto his plate.” Vance sighed, mostly to himself, curling his shoulders forward, like he was shrinking away.

“Then let me help you, we’ll figure out what’s going on and we’ll take it to the Captain together. I promise.” Billy doesn’t usually promise anyone anything almost ever. Vance himself has only been promised things three times by Billy in the entire time they have known each other.

“Thank you.” He breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing his grip on the table.

“What’s gone missing then?” 

“That will actually make a dent in our earnings? Some jewellery that was in a crate, about a kilo of tobacco and, uh.” He scanned the list. “Foodstuffs, spices that could’ve fetched us some good prices, fruits, don’t know what anyone would want with fruits, they’re pears of all things, horrid things they are.” That’s all that they’ve taken, not a lot in the scheme of things but, skimming inventory is bad enough, but the kilo of tobacco and the jewellery is enough to fuck with their earnings enough for it to matter.

“How much does the tobacco and jewellery cut to our earnings?” Billy had pushed away his dinner at that point, staring down at Vance’s list of numbers. “You’ve put the jewellery alone down as between sixty and seventy five pound.”

“Well, it’s what I estimated they’d have cost per piece, and I applied a ten percent markup for Nassau’s trade, and another five for our profit. So we would’ve gotten between about, seventy and eighty six pound for just one of the necklaces,” Jack has always told him he had a head for numbers, it’s come in handy in the recent years. “About the same for the gems. The higher earning pieces are still here, a few strands of pearls and such.” He double checked the numbers on his list and nodded mostly to himself. “And that kilo of tobacco puts us back at least by fifty.”

“So whoever took them, took amounts that would’ve sold for less, and if you haven’t been checking the inventory day and night, no one would have noticed.” Billy mused. He stood and inspected the crates and the spaces where the taken materials would have stood if they were still there. “And you found no evidence that could point to anyone.” 

“Entirely clean. But even if there was anything, everyone has lived on this ship for years.” The fact isn’t lost on the both of them.

“Then we ask the crew if they’ve seen anything suspicious.” Billy stretched into his stature, towering over him.

“Wouldn’t that just alert John and Fl—the Captain of anything suspicious?” 

“We’ll make an excuse. Say you saw someone leaving the holdings but you thought it was nothing, just that you’re curious.” When Vance hesitated, Billy stepped next to him, curling his fingers around his bicep. “I’ll back you up I promise.” 

“That’s two promises you’ve made to me in less than twenty four hours Billy.” Vance reached up and pressed the back of his hand to Billy’s forehead. “You sure you’re not running a fever?” Billy laughed at him, and his fingers curled little more around his bicep, and then Billy is pulled him into a long, tight hug.

Vance hesitated, before he curled his fingers into the back of Billy’s shirt.

Billy’s help with the missing inventory was astounding. They managed to search for three hours top around the ship, sneaking and looking sheepish when someone caught them sneaking around. They found their missing loot squirrelled away into nooks and crannies that they didn’t even know existed. Billy helped him load them back into their appropriate crates, they have their inventory back but they still don’t know who’s stealing it.

Billy and him set up a watch schedule, sleeping in the holdings with their haul. Vance leaned his head against Billy’s shoulder with Billy’s arm around him to steady him with the way the ship rocked. Billy took the first shift, and the next morning when they go through their inventory, nothing is missing and they both sighed in relief. They both agree to sleep in the holdings until they dock.

They’re less than a day out from Nassau when Flint confronted him and Billy, but not for what he thinks. Flint gave them a speech about about being part of the crew and how there doesn’t need to be any secrets, but of course personal space is respected and then Vance realized that Flint was giving both he and Billy  _ the talk about matelotage. _ His cheeks have no right to be as red as they were as Flint looked at him. Vance protested, with his arms across his chest and Billy at his side.

“Hold on Captain, nothing, is going on here. Nothing.” Billy stressed, when he finally got the gist of things. Vance nodded his head so fast he thinks he disorientated himself. 

“Billy and I are just going over the inventory.”

“The both of you have been going over the inventory,” The way Flint said the words felt entirely too judgemental and Vance flinched in response, moving as if he wanted to hide behind Billy. “For the last two days, two whole days. And the crew have mentioned you’ve been sneaking around together. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Billy seems to have sense his discomfort, dropping a hand onto his back to ease the tension in it.. 

“We aren’t sneaking around behind people’s backs. We were just going over the inventory before we reached the port.” Billy firmly reiterated. “Take it from us. It wouldn’t happen.” Vance made a small noise of agreement and turned to follow Billy out of the room.

Just as Vance was about to leave. Flint curled his hands around his bicep and pulled him close, until his side was pressed against Flint’s chest. Flint stepped into his personal space, fingers squeezing his skin. Vance was entirely certain that bruises would form under where Flint’s fingers touched him.

“I don’t like him touching you.” Flint’s breath brushed against Vance’s side. The air crackled around them, like static and Vance pulled away indignantly, his feelings hurt.

“Not like it would matter. But the only person on this ship who has touched me in the way you’re implying, is you, Captain.” He spat the words out, coated in disdain before he dodged the concerned look that Billy shot from outside the captain’s cabin. Flint reached out with one hand, only to be rejected by Vance, spinning on his heel.

Flint’s face fell, Vance noted as he cast a look over his shoulder. Billy fell into step beside him, concern written plainly across his face. He stared over the horizon, spotting Nassau as a tiny spot in the distance. Five more hours on the Walrus, and then he would be able to step foot on land. Billy settled down next to him once they returned to the holdings, to double check their cargo one last time.

Billy, bosun, mentor, brother. His brother on the ship that he calls home. 

“Billy?” He spoke up hesitantly, eyes dropped to the floor. Billy who introduced him to the  _ Walrus _ and Captain Flint in the first place.

“What is it?” 

“Would you be mad if I left?” Billy frowned, concerned deepening on his face. “This thing with the Captain, it’s too much. I can’t, keep on doing this, especially if we’re on the same crew.” 

His feelings are wrought, being tugged back and forth like a rope between two of Flint’s personalities. He wasn’t able to take much more of this.

“So you’d leave, the crew? What would you do? Stay on Nassau? Join a different crew?” Billy shuffled closer to him, slinging an arm around his shoulder. 

“I asked Charles Vane a while ago.” He admitted softly. “When we get back,I’ll  ask him if he’ll take me onto his crew now, if he says yes then I’m going to leave.” He wrung both his hands in his lap and lifted his head to meet Billy’s eyes. “It’s safer for the both of us Bill, and Charles, Jack and Anne will look after me.”

“Flint won’t like it.” 

“Of course he won’t. But I can’t keep doing whatever this is for the rest of my life Billy. Not until he makes a decision about what he wants from me. ” Vance rolled the back of his head against one of the crates. 

“I can’t tell you what to do Vance, but if you feel it’s better.” There wouldn’t be any more games played with his head every time Flint got the urge to fuck him.

“I do.” Billy ran a hand over his gently and nodded.


	4. Chapter 4

Vance was in charge of ensuring that all the inventory is unloaded and accounted for. Which means he was the last to climb off of the Walrus and was the last to make it to shore. Some of the crew had already vanished, probably off towards the brothel to find some whores. Billy hovered over him with Muldoon and Ben, the latter have been clued in by Billy for his plans to leave.

Billy, Muldoon and Ben helped him take stock of the inventory and they lingered when Vance spoke to the trader and handed him the pages from his log that he’s calculated the earnings on. Once they had finished and the inventory has been offloaded, Vance finally noticed the three shadows hovering around where Ben, Billy and Muldoon were standing. Charles, Anne, Jack, all waiting for him.

He shook the trader’s hand once more, gave him a wide smile and bounded over to them, where Charles was the first to embrace him with an arm around his shoulder.

“You made it back safe.” Charles leaned into him slightly, brushing a faint hint of a kiss across his hairline before he relinquished his hold on Vance for Anne and Jack to embrace him.

“No injuries.” Vance nodded.

“I’m aware that Vance has made an arrangement with you.” Billy cut into the reunion. Charles pulled away slightly to scan Vance’s face and searched it for an explanation

“I made my decision.” Vance pulled himself to his full height and straightened his back to meet Charles’ eyes, exuding confidence that he rarely shows outside of raids. “I want to join your crew.”

Charles lit up for barely a moment, his lips parted to speak, before he was interrupted by Anne and Jack cheering rowdily.

“There still needs to be a vote among the crew.” Billy added, interrupting the cheers, Muldoon and Ben nodded behind him. “He deserves to be happy.” Billy commented over Vance’s head towards Charles.

“When?” Charles asked.

“In the morning, tomorrow. Let the men have their fill, we’ll be in Nassau for a few days.” Billy smiled, as Charles slung an arm around Vance’s shoulder, leaning into him, and Vance leaned back. The three of them, Billy, Muldoon and Ben backed away, with kind smiles on their faces, heading towards town. The static that had previously filled the air dissipated and Charles pulled Vance into a proper hug.

“Shit you’re gonna be part of my crew now?” Charles breathed in disbelief as he pressed his face into Vance’s hair. Jack and Anne join the hug, squeezing their arms around the both of them.

“Of course.” Vance hesitated for a second. “Captain.” It sounded different, but at the same time, he felt entirely at ease addressing Charles as such.

>>> “I never thought I’d hear you call me that.” Charles said with a chuckle. He slung his arm around Vance’s shoulders and they started walking, the four of them, over towards the brothel with Jack offering them a round of drinks

By the end of the evening, Jack was decidedly too drunk to be offering anyone anymore drinks. He leant on Anne’s tiny frame, his fingers lighting and distinguishing whenever he raised his voice in a conversation that none of them are a part of. Vance leaned against Charles, one of his hands firmly threaded into Charles’ hair, static between them making the hairs on both their arms stand on end. Out of all of them, Anne was the least inebriated and had the most sense not to drink until she was stumbling around and a mess.

Charles had enough sense in him not to topple over and fall into the sand and pass out with Vance attached to him, so he curled his hand around the nape of Vance’s neck and wrapped his other arm around his waist. They followed behind Anne and Jack, stumbling together through the sand. Anne seemed to be the only one who remembered which direction their tents were. Jack and Anne, once they reached the beach and row of tents, disappeared into their own. Charles dragged Vance into his tent, listening to him giggle in his grip, before he tripped and the both of them collapse onto the bedding below them.

Vance giggled when Charles groaned outwardly into the bedding face first. He touched Charles’ bicep, almost hesitantly, curiously and jerked back at the static that nipped at his fingers. Charles made another noise and tugged his other arm around to hide his face against his bicep before giving Vance the finger.

Charles radiated heat.. Charles was warm, always warm with sweat in a slight sheen over his skin, especially with the humidity of Nassau. Vance inched closer, snuggling himself into Charles’ side to drink in the warmth. It was almost intoxicating.

“Charles.” Vance whispered, drunkenly poking at his soon to be Captain, trying to wriggle closer. Charles mumbled something and batted his hand away, rolling over to strip out of his shirt and wipe at his face, before he turned back to give Vance a small, half hearted glare. “Strip and get down here, your clothes are uncomfortable.” He barked out, before tucking his face back into the crook of his elbow.

Vance stripped out of his vest and shirt, an awkward, half-hearted attempt to discard them somewhere. Once they’re thrown in a random direction, he dropped himself back onto the bedding and latched himself onto Charles’ side, pressing his face against Charles’ shoulder.

Charles muttered his voice muffled against his elbow before his arm snaked out towards Vance and pulled him in properly, tucking Vance against his side. Charles slung a leg around his waist lazily, pinning him in place and letting the warmth radiate around him.

“Now shut up and sleep.” The words leave his mouth in a sleepy growl, pressed against Vance’s skin, before he buried his face back into his elbow.

Vance nodded drowsily, still half drunk, leaning over to press a sloppy but chaste kiss onto Charles’ shoulder. “Yes sir Captain.” He jokes through the yawn, before he settles next to Charles and drifts off as soon as he closes his eyes.He joked through a yawn, pushing himself down into the bedding as Charles’ warmth overtook him and put him to sleep.

The next morning wasn’t awkward to say the least, but the usual static that sat in the air surrounding him had returned. His entire body is warm, a droplet of sweat rolled down his forehead. Part of it attributed to Nassau’s sun. The other, attributed to Charles Vane, latched onto him with his body heat warming Vance and his breath puffed against the skin of Vance’s throat

Charles latched onto him tightly, his breath still puffing against Vance’s throat. He blushed, from the tips of his ears and it spread down his chest, disappearing under the waistband of his leather pants. He groaned inwardly at himself, his crotch aching. The idea of Charles waking up and finding him like this was terrifying.

Charles’ leg was slung high over his thigh still, dangerously close to the bulge in his pants as his leg curls around his thigh. Vance blinked, clearing the sleep from his eyes before dropping his gaze down to Charles. He can’t remember why he’s shirtless and latched onto Charles, hard as rock and aching.

Vance whined, a low and rough sound as Charles shifted in his sleep, his thigh brushing against the base of his cock, sending sparks of pleasure across his spine. Charles tugged him closer in his sleep, radiating more warmth. Charles was so fucking warm against him, and if he just changed the angle of how he was laying—no his mind doesn’t need to go in that direction.

He curled his fingers against his thigh, clenching and unclenching his fist as Charles’ lips brushed against his throat in his sleep. Then, Charles moved, completely draping his body across Vance’s body, It dragged a noise out of his throw, a whine and a whimper curled up into one. His erection is now, obviously, pressed into Charles’s hip and he’s now pinned by both Charles’s weight and the heat of his skin.

Charles sleepily mumbled against him, his eyelashes fluttering against his skin. He was practically on top of Vance, pinning him to the bedding. He smiled down ad Vance, still sleep-ridden, before he realized what position he was in.

“Shit, I didn’t make you uncomfortable did I?” Charles rolled off of him, looking like he wanted to lean forward and touch him, to sooth the tension that locked into his shoulders. Vance stammered, as Charles’ eyes dropped to the bulge in his leather pants. An almost smirk slipped onto his lips and Vance blushed in response

“Uh. You’re really warm, it uh.” Vance stumbled over the sentence. He’s distracted, intoxicated by the warmth that radiates from Charles’ skin. Charles’s concerned turn of his mouth shifts into a proper smug smirk.

Charles inched closer, drinking in Vance’s reaction as the warmth from his body made him lean in. He slipped an arm around Vance’s shoulders and tugged him close, until Vance’s shoulder was pressed against his bare chest. Vance gasped before a soft moan tore from his lips.

“Christ. You like that that much?” Charles smirked and pushed himself up and over, straddling Vance’s hips and urged him to lay back, applying pressure to his shoulders. He does. Charles leaned in, rolling his hips languidly against Vance and smiling when Vance realizes he’s just as hard. He tucked his face into Vance’s neck, licking a stripe up his throat before he whispered into Vance’s ear. “Just let go.” He murmured, running a hand over Vance’s chest.

The static cloud that surrounded them affects them both. Like the way Charles’ warmth affected him, his static caused goosebumps along Charles’ arms and back. Vance ran his hand up Charles’ back, gasping up at him with his mouth slightly parted. Charles avoided kissing him, instead, ducking his head down to mouth along his throat, mouthing and sucking a large dark bruise into his skin. He pulled back to survey his handiwork, grinning like a satisfied shark before he began to roll his hips again.

A needy whine escaped Vance’s throat and a blush settled firmly across his cheeks.

“Everything’s buzzing under your skin and the only way to get rid of it is to either fight or fuck.” Charles muttered the words against his skin. Vance rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. Charles was hot and hard, a muscled wall above his body.

Charles’ warmth seeped under his skin until his blood is pumping through his veins on fire. He let his hands wander, gripped the curve of Charles’s ass, scratched up Charles’s back and rolled his hips upward to press his cock against Charles’ ass. Charles moved against him in a languid motion, drawing moans from his mouth.

“Take what you need, I don’t judge.” Charles pressed his lips against the spot he’d been puffing air against in his sleep, and then nipped and worried the skin with his teeth. Vance let out a keening wail from deep in his throat and dug his fingers into the swell of Charles’s ass, rutting upwards to chase sparks of pleasure. When Charles lifted his head from the spot under his jaw which has been worried by teeth and soothed by lips,  his eyes are dark, the sharp blue reduced to a thin circle as his pupils are blown wide.

Charles shifted above him, grinds his own erection onto Vance’s, gets a hand down between them so he can deftly undo the ties for his pants and freed his cock without a second glance to the blush on Vance’s face.

The friction of Charles’s hand combined with his warmth and the teeth worrying the point under his jaw has him hiding his face against his bicep while Charles dragged keening wails and moans out of his throat. Charles teased his hand over his cock, continues until he’s writhing in the bedding against him and his release spilled over his bare chest and Charles’s fist. Through his release, Charles rolled his hips languidly, breathing in through his nose, and then panting through his mouth as he used his fluids to slick his own hand and bring himself to come.

Charles leaned in and kissed him, a gentle brush of lips before he pulled away. The warmth from Charles has reduced slightly, and when he focuses, the static that surrounded them when he woke has lessened. Charles unashamedly licked both their fluids from his hand while Vance blushed and hid his face behind his bicep.

“Get up and get dressed.” Charles rolled over, stretching on the bedding, gesturing haphazardly towards a chest of clothes in the tent. “I can’t offer you pants, so make sure they’re clean, but I can offer a shirt.” The shirt won’t fit him right, the chest would be a bit loose, the arms too wide.

Vance scrambled up from the bedding, cleaning himself up as best as he can with a rag. Something flopped against the back of his head and dropped to the ground. He turned around, glancing at the offending object. Charles’ favourite shit. Charles threw his favourite shirt at him.

“Put it on.” Charles drawled, leaning against the table in his tent. He had dressed and was already lighting a cheroot that Vance didn’t see him pick up, in the few minutes Vance had been fumbling. Vance slipped into the shirt and took a drag from the cheroot when Charles offered it out. “We have your meeting with the crew. I’ll go get Anne and Jack.”

Vance turned to look in the mirror that Charles has, tilting his head to survey the dark mark underneath his jaw, on his throat. He poked at it experimentally, wincing when it actually hurt. It was on display, with Charles’ shirt on. He wouldn’t be able to cover it up for the meeting on the beach, not unlees he could get to the brothel to borrow some makeup from the girls and get back in time.

Charles ducked back into the tent, fussing over his appearance. He pulled Vance’s hair up into a bun, using one of his own ties to secure it, before adjusting Vance’s shirt

“You ready for this?” Determination filled his chest, he straightened his back, taking a deep breath as he did so.

“Let’s go then.” He turned and walked out of the tent Vance following just barely a step behind him. Billy had agreed to hold the meeting on the beach, and when he and his crew, and Vance had finally gathered on the sand, Vance can see Billy, Muldoon and Ben, stood together with a few others, and Flint’s glare directed onto Charles as he stood next to silver.

Charles paused and turned to look over at Vance, concern playing in his voice. “Are you sure?” He whispered. They aren’t close enough for Vance’s old crew to hear them, not yet.

“I am, I need to do this.” Even to himself, Vance’s voice came out stronger than he’d anticipated. Charles nodded at him, pride clearly written on his face.

Vance took a deep breath before he strode in the sand towards his old crew. Flint’s eyes flash, a shadow passed over his face before he shifted his weight in the sand.

“Well, what the fuck is this?” Flint growled. Vance met his eyes, straightening his back and drawing himself to his full height.

“I’m making a decision for myself. I’m switching crews sir.” The words seemed to echo and any muttering among both crews died on their tongues. Confusion, despair, anger, and then rage flitted over Flint’s face, his eyes zeroed in on Charles, behind Vance and then a flash of lightning burst through the clear morning skies. Most of the crews jump, but Charles pressed forward into Vance’s personal space and dropped a warm hand to the small of his back, an out if he needed it.

“I’m asking for a vote, to allow me to leave Captain Flint’s crew, and for me to join Charles Vane.” Vance turned his attention towards the men of both crews. Billy was surrounded his supporters, Muldoon, Ben, a few others, Randall among them, Jacob, surprisingly. Most of Charles’s crew  has nodded in response, Jack beamed over at Vance, Anne had what looked like a small smile playing on her lips underneath her hat. “Will you allow it?” The question Vance asks is directed towards Flint. He was firm, no hint of any hesitation or fear.

Flint stood motionless in the sand, an expression that neither of them can read. An eternity passes. Flint cycled through several emotions on his face. Rage, anger, betrayal. Vance shifted, where he stood next to Charles in the sand. The mark on his throat made itself known with a small throb, reminded him of what he and Charles had just done.

When Flint glared at Charles, he frowned and asked again, firmer.

“Fine. Have your vote.” Flint waved a hand dismissively in their direction, before he turned to have a word with silver. Vance ignored the twist in his gut at Flint’s blatant dismissal before he turned towards the men, motioning for Jack to step forward. It’s tradition for the quartermaster of the new crew to take the vote.

“All in favour of Vane Nottley leaving Captain Flint’s crew.” Jack’s voice echoed over both the crews. Billy's group raised their arms instantly, him, Muldoon, Ben, Jacob, Randall, and all the rest of them, nodding along. A majority of Charles’ crew has raised their hands, including Jack and Anne, and Charles behind him has his other arm raised, the one that isn’t on Vance’s back.

Jack counted and tallied the scores openly in the sand, drawing the numbers in with a stick. “All against?” Flint raised his hand, as does John and DeGroot and Dufresne, a couple of the crew who he's worked with shook their heads and lifted their arms. A few of Charles’s crew lifted their arms, but overall, it's obvious that they were the minority vote.  

“Then it's settled. Vance Nottley, welcome to the crew of Captain Charles Vane.” Jack held out a hand to him. Vance paused, glancing behind him to Charles. The corner of his mouth turned upwards into a smile, and then he grasped Jack’s forearm, pulling Jack into a tight hug.

“Glad to be here quartermaster.” Vance mumbled against Jack’s hair.

“Glad to have you officially kid.” Charles leaned back, letting Vance hug the rest of the crew, standing with Anne. “Go say your goodbyes. We can celebrate as much as you want later.” Charles jerked his head over to where Billy, Muldoon and Ben were waiting patiently in the sand. Vance bounded over to them, bee-lining straight for Billy.

When he stopped in front of Billy, a grin broke out over his face. “Thank you.” Fell from his mouth immediately.

“We're going to miss you.” Billy murmured into the top of his hair. “You're a good friend, and you were good for him.” Billy hesitated for a moment before squeezing him tighter. “And you brought some light back onto the _Walrus._ ” Billy said so softly. He was good for the _Walrus_.

Vance moved on from Billy, Ben hugged him just as tight, the Scottish man patted his shoulder when he pulls away and his bottom lip wobbled slightly.

“Oh Ben.” Vance pulled him in for another hug, this time albeit wetly. “I'll still be around Nassau. Always, we can catch up when we dock again.” He patted Ben’s back again, giving the man a soft smile. Then he turned, grasping immediately onto Muldoon’s forearm.

Muldoon grinned with a hint of fangs. He dropped an arm onto Vance’s shoulder but they don’t hug. They stood still, holding onto each other's forearms for a while. “You be safe, you hear me.” Muldoon muttered quietly “No dying on a ship that isn't ours.”

“Like you’d let me.” Muldoon’s smile widened as he nodded in agreement.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. ” Muldoon let go of his arm and Vance sighed, before turning to the next man waiting. John stared back at him, an arm wrapped around his crutch, another hand outstretched. Silence passes between them. John has always been able to read him like a book, he has nothing to say.

Vance grasped onto John’s outstretched hand. “You’re a good quartermaster John.” He won’t admit to John that he’ll miss him, but John can read him like a book so it doesn’t matter. John squeezed his hand firmly, and then hobbled back.

Flint stepped up to him slowly with an unreadable expression. Vance steeled himself, ready for anger. It surprised him when it didn’t come.

“I don’t understand why?” Flint spoke first. He reached out, his fingers barely grazed Vance’s shoulder.

“I’m suffocating Ca—Flint.” Flint wasn’t his captain anymore. He sighed, averting his eyes from Flint’s.

“You’re going to leave this crew, after everything we’ve done.” Flint frowned, his voice throaty and raw. Flint stepped closer to him, the air between them crackled almost dangerously. “Don’t do this.” Flint’s voice dropped to a whisper. Flint inched closer again, until he could lean in and brush his lips against Vance’s ear.

He was  well aware of some of the crew still lingering on the beach behind the both of them. Suddenly, Flint gripped onto the nape of his neck, startling him. “Don’t do this.” Flint repeated with dark eyes.

“I have to.” Flint’s eyes narrowed. Fear twisted at Vance’s insides. Betrayal tugged at Flint’s.

“Why the fuck do you think that you have to?” Flint’s hands tighten on the nape of his neck.

“Because of you! You’re playing some kind of fucking game with me and I can’t be on your crew when you’re like this.” Flint flinched back from the tone of his voice. Vance seized the opportunity, backing away from him. “I can’t anymore, my feelings matter too Flint.” Flint reached out for him again. Vance hesitated again, fighting the urge to reach back.

He turned away, steeling himself against the eyes he can feel on his back He took one step away from Flint, and then another. Slowly, he strode away from him and toward Charles.

“Are you okay?” Charles asked as he slung an arm around his shoulder.

“Never better.” Vance smiled up at him, gentle, bright, radiant. Charles smiled back before he pressed a gentle brush of his lips over Vance’s hairline.

“I’m proud of you.” Charles added, as they walked in towards town, toward Eleanor’s place, ready for a few drinks. The mark on Vance’s throat throbbed in response to Charles’ off-handed remark. Satisfaction settled into the pit of Vance’s stomach, he belonged here, with Charles’ crew.

 

* * *

 

Flint lingered behind on the beach, anger swirled in his gut, betrayal twisted in his chest. Even John had left him to his own devices in the sand. The rest fo the crew that had voted for Vance to leave, Billy, Muldoon, Ben, Jacob, the others, they had all headed off towards the inn, or the brothel, he doesn’t know.

An ache, a longing settled into his stomach the minute he heard the words _switching crews_. Everything just felt wrong now.

Fear toyed inside his chest. He hasn’t wanted something since Thomas and Miranda, and even then, it’s so long ago, and Gods cannot have long lasting relationships with humans. He’d been forced to leave, and then years after, Thomas and Miranda were gone, and so was James McGraw.

It’s not like he tried to push them away. He loved Thomas and Miranda so much he was willing to risk them knowing everything about him to have them. Now, in their place is Vance, Vance who just walked away and left his crew to join Charles Vane.

For once, Captain—James—Flint, stood, not knowing what to do.


	5. Chapter 5

Charles doesn’t bring up what they did with each other, and it’s a slight relief. Yes Charles is in every way, attractive, he’s a powerful man and his body is hard in all the right places with just the right amount of softness. But Charles is also now, his Captain and as much as the memory of Charles’s warmth stirs the fire in the pit of his stomach, he can’t risk a repeat of what happened with Flint.

After he joins Charles’s crew, everything feels, static, unlike the static cloud that surrounds him almost day and night, it’s more like, everything isn’t moving. There’s no rush to be somewhere, Charles has stuck by his side ever since their  _ thing _ and Flint had tugged him close on the sand. Surprisingly, no one finds it weird that he suddenly is flanked by Charles wherever he goes, unless Charles is busy then it’s Jack or Anne and that's just a view that's considered normal. 

Getting to know Charles outside of the things he’s learned while hanging out with Jack and Anne, is fun. Vance can admit that he has fun when they raid ships, bring back unimaginable treasures for the people of Nassau. Jack’s schmoozing is apparently a learnable trait, and Vance takes to it like a duck to water.

He’s Jack’s little protege, according to the laughter of the crew, he helps Jack with all duties that involve intensive reading and writing—because Jack says, complains, about Charles and Anne not even being able to write more than their own names neatly—and it’s a job he flourishes at. Within days their inventories and captain logs have been reorganized and ordered and rewritten into something legible and Jack praises him for it, loudly and unashamedly whenever they’re drinking.

Charles’ praises are much more of the silent variety, a hand on his shoulder, a hand on the small of his back, gentle scritches through his hair or just over the curve of his ear. It’s entirely normal, the crew don’t mention it. Jack and Anne don’t mention it. 

Suddenly it’s a lot more common to think of Charles, than it is for Vance to think of Flint. He’s not entirely sure on what to do with that information his brain supplies. Vance doesn’t openingly talk about it, think about it. It’s no secret to either of the crews that he was on that he fancied and appreciated men, he’d appreciated a good woman once or twice too in the brothel. He wasn’t picky.

Charles on the other hand, is all to frequently visiting Eleanors place and the brothels. Sometimes Vance is with him when he goes to those places, although Charles will disappear an leave him to his own devices. It’s not that he’s jealous.

Okay he might be a little bit jealous. Sometimes he and Charles will be sitting with tankards of ale and Eleanor Guthrie will bat her eyelashes and Charles with leave their table with a smug smile on his lips. Sometimes a brothel girl distracts Charles from their conversation and Vance will have to find his own way back to their shared tent on the beach. 

But he tells himself that he’s not jealous anyway.

And it’s not like he’s abstaining from any kinds of desires and indulgences. Two of the girls in the brothels he visits look decidedly like Charles and Flint. One girl with pale skin and freckles across her cheeks and shoulders, short red hair and eyes that are the wrong shade of green, the other who has long dark hair that reaches down her back and has a sharp nose and blue eyes that don’t shine as bright. 

They don’t seem to mind his company.

 

* * *

 

It started after Vance joined his crew. Really. It wasn’t massive revelation when he realized he loved the kid. Well it kind of was, when he moaned Vance’s name into Eleanor’s ear instead of hers. Her fault for having blonde hair and being the same height as Vance. Her fault for being his only distraction that was close enough to Vance’s likeness.

Charles squeezes his eyes shut as Eleanor yells at him. She throws a wine glass at him. It shatters just above where his head is, against the wall. A book gets thrown next, a metal cup. He doesn’t flinch, lets her throw things at him and curse at him. He only moves to grab her wrists when she reaches for his gun that’s in his abandoned holster on her desk.

“Stop it.” He growls, chest heaving. “Stop making such a big deal out of it.” It was gradual, his feelings for Vance. At first he thought he was just trying to replace the feelings he had for Eleanor, since they faded the more Eleanor grew obsessed with being in charge and proving herself (He didn’t love what she was becoming, so different from the girl he met at nineteen). He was happy for the feelings to just linger in his chest, if it meant that he felt a bit of warmth from someone who didn’t judge him—Vance doesn’t judge anyone apparently.

“It is a big deal. You poached that boy from Flint’s crew,” He didn’t poach Vance from anyone thank you very much, he wants to protest indignantly. Vance wanted to join him. “Lord knows what else you’ve done with him. You’ve only had him on your crew for seven months and now you’re moaning his name while fucking me!” She practically screams at him, her small fists flying towards his chest. 

Seven months of them growing closer and closer. Seven months of him scratching his fingers into Vance’s hair. Stumbling drunk from the bar back into their tent. Helping each other get their shirts off before falling asleep in a drunken tangle. Seven months of Vance smiling up at him with sweet eyes and a smile that radiates  _ good _ . 

Seven months of Vance sticking by his side, through raids and his bad times and the horrors of storms and andromaches that they’d sailed through. Seven months of him falling deeper and deeper for that sweet smile and caring heart. Seven months of holding Vance while he’s asleep and looking down at his relaxed face and thinking that Vance is beautiful. 

Yeah he might be in love with Vance.

Charles sighs again and grabs her wrists again to stop the onslaught of beating against his chest. “Look, it was just one time before he even joined my crew and we didn’t even fuck.” He says exasperatedly, before he realizes it was absolutely the wrong fucking thing to say. 

“So what, now you’re pining over a fucking  _ child _ ?” She screeches. “Are you in love with him? He’s just one of your crew!” One of her hands slips out of his grip and she slaps him across the face as hard as Charles thinks is entirely possible for her. His cheek stings sharply, and he can feel the slow trickle of blood down his cheek and into his beard.

One of her rings has cut his cheek. He takes in a deep breath and blows it out through his nose. “You keep your mouth shut about it, it’s nobody’s business but mine and Vance’s.” He stands to his full height, sometimes it’s hard to remember that he can tower over her and threaten her. Mainly because he used to be in love with her. Now they just fuck and yell and get mad at each other and that’s not love.

It's not his fault that out of everyone he pays attention to in Nassau, she's the most similar in appearance to Vance. Blonde hair, similar frame and the same height. He sighs to himself, staring at her as she screeches insults at him.

How was he in love with her. She’s irritating, she gets on his nerves. She picks fights and finds problems when there are none just so she can assert her so-called authority over the many men of Nassau. God sometimes he just wishes he could hit her back and not feel guilty about hurting her like she hurts him. He lets out a frustrated sigh and tunes back into her words.

“-re you just using him to get back at Flint? Taking advantage of him?” Eleanor accuses him. “I’ve seen how he looks at you, how he looked at Flint. If you’re just using him because he’s  _ easy _ prey for you-” This time Charles gives in to the urge to hit her. He punches her in the jaw, not as hard as he would like but it’s enough for her to stumble back. 

“Don’t you dare fucking imply I would hurt him like that.” He growls angrily. His chest heaves with the effort of holding himself back from hitting her again. Eleanor spits blood onto her floor, glaring up at him with sharp blue eyes. “You obviously don’t know me.” He spits back, his words sharp.

Eleanor flinches at that, but then she straightens her spine and raises her chin. “You’re taking advantage of that boy.” She points an accusing finger at him. “Everyone knows he would do anything for you. You’re going to ruin him.” Charles feels the corner of his eye twitch. Anger, annoyance, uncertainty all swirl in the pit of his stomach. The brand on his shoulder burns with so much clarity it almost takes him back to the night it happened. 

As if he’d stoop so low to take advantage. He takes another deep breath. He steadies himself and turns around to the door, ready to leave.

“He won’t stay with you!” Eleanor calls out as his hand reaches for the handle. “Rumour had it that he loves Flint, it’s why he left his crew.” Charles closes his eyes and pushes down the jealous that writhes in him, rearing back it’s head, ready to strike. “He won’t love you.” 

Charles steels himself and doesn’t turn back to look at her. He’s done with her. He pushes the door open, storming out and slamming the door shut behind him. Eleanor's words echo in his head, cutting him deep. The accusations, the realization. His brand aches. He hates to admit it, even to himself but his heart aches. He clenches his fists.

He knows exactly what to do to get rid of that ache.

 

The first hit of opium almost knocks him off his feet. Decidedly, it might also be because of the two bottles of rum he’s drained—alcohol and self-medication has always been the way to go with him. The sun is just starting to set. No one in his crew notices anything amiss, since he’s waited until after everyone was full with dinner and rum to fall into his drunk and high stupor.

He misses Vance. Eleanor's words continue to swirl around in his mind. They make him sick to his stomach, implying he was anything close to Albinus—even the name makes bile rise in his throat—to take advantage of someone like Vance. He doesn’t want Vance to see him like this but he just misses Vance.

Vance did once, and the next morning when Charles realized, he almost had an aneurysm and spent almost four hours apologizing to Vance for the sight he must’ve been. The alcohol goes straight to his head, just as the first hit of opium in his views. He makes everything feel like he’s floating, he splays out across the bedding, his and Vance’s shared bedding. He turns over onto his stomach and inhales.

Vance’s scent, of ozone and static makes him heady. It fills his head with cotton and he wants to just hold onto Vance and fall asleep next to him. He wants to press his lips against Vance’s cheek and see the cute blush spread onto his cheeks. It’s gross and sappy and romantic and Charles wants it.

That's how Jack finds him about five hours later. Jack ducks into his and Vance’s shared tent looking for him with a question on his lips. Charles stares up at him hazily, muttering something or rather and holding his hand over the spot that Vance likes to curl up in. Jack’s face drops. 

“Fucking shit Charles.” Jack pushes through the slit in the tent and drops down to crouch next to him, a hand on his shoulder. Charles waves him off with a lazy grunt turning over to bury his face into the bedding. He inhales sharply, the scent of ozone and sea salt filling his senses. Vance scent lingers on the bedding.

Charles let's a noise slip from his mouth and sluggishly pushes himself up and over to look at Jack.  

“What the fuck did she say to you this time?” Jack always knows Eleanor does this to him. He mumbles something vague about his and Eleanor's conversation, he thinks he mentions Vance’s name, which makes Jacks face twist and a frown graces his lips. He sighs and waves his hand in front of his face, a feeble attempt to change the subject. Jack lets out a small sigh before clapping his hands onto his thighs.

“I'm going to get Vance.” Jack says as he stands abruptly. Charles lurches forward, reaching out to grab and the fabric of Jacks pants desperately.

“No!” He clutches onto the thin fabric of Jacks pants, gasping out the protest. “He can't see.” He stares up at Jack wide eyed.

“Charles he's already seen you like this.” He sighs exasperatedly, crouching back down to drop a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “He cares about you, we all do. Now you're going to let me go get him so that you can stop moping.”

It makes him feel like throwing up, the idea of Vance seeing him all messed up, a far image from the fearsome captain that he has as his reputation. He's an absolute mess, his mind is hazy and he can't think clearly about anything. He doesn't want Vance to know.

_ Rumour had it that he was in love with Flint and that's why he left his crew _ . Eleanors words cause him to lurch forward in the bedding, threatening to send bile back up his throat. He barely manages to reign in his nausea, fingers curling into the blanket that he and Vance share.

He knows. Vance had a…  _ thing _ with Flint. He didn't entirely like it—was jealous of it—but it wasn't like he controlled Vance. He could do what he wanted. A pang in his chest has him gasping. Vance never really disclosed to what extent did his thing with Flint ended up in. He dreams about the morning they shared sometimes, the way Vance’s skin felt under his lips. It’s something he’s not willing to ask for—because why would he ask. 

He wants Vance to come back to their tent. He misses him. Anne ducks into the tent with an expression on get face that he can't read. She snatches the opium pipe from the bedding before he can stop her. He wants to take it back from her, he could very well wrestle it back from her (while putting himself at risk) but Jack and Vance could be back in very well under five minutes and they don’t need to add blood and broken bones into the mix—they’d be his anyway.

“Nope.” She slaps at his hand when he reaches out for it. “You're screwing yourself enough already.” She gestures over to the empty bottles of rum on his table. She's always been more blunt about him ruining himself than Jack is.

“I love him.” He drowsily murmurs, pushing his hands through the blanket, smoothing it over the bedding. Anne just gives him a gentle smile from underneath her hat and ducks down to rearrange Charles’ blanket around his legs. She pats his head gently like he’s a cat.

  
  


* * *

 

Tonight is one of those nights, where Vance is unaccompanied by any of the crew and ready to just fall into bed with the girls from the brothels. He has enough coin for the both of them for a few hours. Charles is somewhere, god knows where, Vance thinks Jack might’ve carried him back to the tents because he’s high as a kite. The brothel is surprisingly empty, probably because Captain Naft and his crew were out chasing some prize as was the Walrus, and most of the his crew mates are in the tents rather than in the brothel rooms, sleeping away.

The girls push him down towards the bed, stripping him out of his shirt and leather pants, giggling when they find him hard and naked underneath his clothes. They seem to enjoy it he’s breathless and needy at their disposal. They rile him up for hours usually, before one rides his tongue and the other rides his cock. 

He wraps his arms around the both of them and pulls them onto the bed, leaning in to kiss the first girl, the redhead, Lindsey, and then pulling away only to capture the other girl, Roxanne into a kiss. They’re lovely girls, attentive to all his gasps and whines. They pay a lot of attention to him. 

Vance holds Lindsey’s hair as she goes down on him, slurping obscenely on his cock while Roxanne bends over while saddling his chest, showing off her cunt for him to lap at. They don’t get very far, an hour into their time and Jack is banging on the door making him groan and apologetically glance over to the them.

He frowns and leans out of door to look at Jack with an eyebrow raised expectantly. “The crew and captain needs you.” He perks up at the word captain and Jack peers into the room around him.

“Oh. Wasn’t expecting to see two of them there.” Jack points out rather obviously.

“You interrupted. Besides none of you actually notice them when I’m in here.” He retorts as he pulls his clothes back on after wiping at himself with a rag. He turns to the girls and throws the a small pouch of coins. “For the hours I asked for, sorry, duty calls.” He grins at them when they blush and shyly wave at him as he slinks out the door.

“They’re going to fall in love with you if you treat them like that.” Jack comments as they stroll down the stairs towards the door. Vance chuckles and turns his head slightly to look at Jack.

“Trust me, we’ve talked about it. There’s no way.” He smiles to himself. “Let me guess, the crew still thinks I’m innocent and corruptible and are doing their best to not let that happen?” He pouts his lip out playfully at Jack when he looks sheepish.

“Yeah well not all of them know that you’ve been fucking Flint, so.” Jack crosses his arms over his chest for a moment before they’re out of the brothel and stepping into Nassau’s surprisingly cool night air.

“Alright, what’s the captain ‘nd the crew done to get into trouble now.”

“Well I may have, exaggerated a little bit.” Jack drawls. “Charles is as high as a kite and god forbid, distraught, something happened with Eleanor Guthrie and by the time Anne and I got to him he was.” Jack sighs, exasperated, waving his hands around.

Vance stops in his tracks, staring at Jack with an eyebrow raised.

“Wait. You came and got me because Charles is… sad?”

“Yes. He’s been moping about you for days and Eleanor made it worse and-” Jack stops abruptly mid sentence before slapping himself in the face, hand clamping over his mouth.

“He’s been moping about me?” The corner of Vance’s lip twitches and he sighs, just the slightest bit audible. “Is he in our tent?”

“Yep. And he looked a hell of a lot happier when I said your name so. Here we are.” They start walking again, a bit quicker this time, until their trudging through the sand down the line of tents until he comes to his and Charles’. Anne ducks out of it with Charles’ opiate pipe in her small hands and gives him a small smile and a soft ‘good luck’, before she ducks into Jack’s side and they disappear into their own tent.

Vance smiles at them both retreating, nervousness swirling in his stomach before he ducks through the slit in the tent to see Charles hazily staring up at the ceiling. Vance frowns and takes two quick steps over to Charles’ side, dropping to his knees next to his Captain.

“Vance.” Charles smiles at him lazily, eyes dark and hooded. Charles’ movements are sluggish and slow, hand barely lifting like he’s reaching out towards him. “Jack said he was goin’ to get you.” 

“Yeah.” Vance smiles down fondly at Charles. “He got me.” He pats the top of Charles’ head gently. “Are you okay Capt’n?” Something he says might’ve set Charles off because he jolts from where he’s laying down, throwing himself forward like he’s searching for something. It must be the opium pipe that Anne had in her hands when she came out of the tent.

“It’s not here.” He says carefully. Charles pauses, then he slumps back down against the bedding. He does look distraught, Vance notices. He’s missing his shirt, hair dishevelled. All his neat braids removed from it. His blue eyes are slightly dull, his pupils pinned. Charles just looks so sad. Vance shifts until he’s sitting cross-legged next to Charles, shuffling close until the leather of his pants on his knee touches Charles’ bare side.

“Charles?” He asks, testing the waters. His captain hums a sound of acknowledgement. “Are you okay?” He lets the words fall softly from his mouth.

“M’havin’ a crisis Vance.” He mutters sluggishly, eyes flicking back up to the ceiling of the tent. Charles turns over and hugs the side of his leg. Vance doesn’t have the heart to push him off. He wraps an arm around Charles’ and smooths a hand down his back softly, pressing his fingers against sweat covered skin. Charles arches into the touch and makes a noise so vulnerable—Vance registers it as a whimper.

He shifts out of Charles’ hold for a second, heart clenching when Charles lets out a keening whine, only to slide down onto his side and lets Charles latch onto him. He rubs Charles’ back as his captain buries his very warm face against his shoulder. Charles is running warmer than his usual. Vance presses a hand to his forehead and almost flinches at the heat that comes off him.

“Charles do you have any water?” He asks softly, eyes scanning around the tent. Charles nods half-heartedly against his shoulder. “Alright, I’m going to get some for you okay?” He spots the pitcher on Charles’ desk. “Are you okay to let me go get it?” Charles nods slowly against him, eyes still hazy. 

Vance slips out of his grip and as quickly as he can, he scrambles up to the table and carefully brings the pitcher of water back down to where Charles is laying, looking at him. He pours a cup and sets the pitcher down, settling back down next to Charles, the pitcher next to his leg. Charles moves into his side and throws a leg over his lap, still pressing his face against Vance’s shoulder.

“M’fucked up bad.” He rasps against Vance. 

“What?” Charles shakes his head and doesn’t elaborate. Vance pushes it aside for the moment and holds the cup of water under Charles’ chin. “Hey you need to drink this for me? Okay?” 

Charles nods against him and lifts his head. Vance uses his free hand to tuck Charles’ hair out of his face, pushing it behind his ear. Charles looks so vulnerable like this, hazy and lost. Charles’ hands shake against the cup. Vance has to hold it, fingers around Charles’ as he lifts the cup towards his lips. 

Once Charles is done with the cup, Vance sets it down, not caring if it tips over. His fingers brush against the trickle of water from the corner of Charles’ mouth and he leans in closer to use his sleeve and brush it away. 

“Did you love him?” Charles asks suddenly, so soft that Vance almost misses it. Almost. Charles looks at him hazily and leans towards him, unbalanced even though he’s propped up against Vance’s arm. Vance looks at him questioningly before it clicks.

Charles is asking if he loves Flint. Something twists in his gut and he looks away, dropping his eyes from Charles face. Charles presses closer to him. He doesn’t really know what constitutes as love really, he’s had nothing to compare it too. He frowns as he thinks. Calloused fingers brush against the corner of his mouth and his eyes snap back up to meet Charles’.

“Did you?” The question sounds so innocent. Vance doesn’t know what to say.

“I suppose.” He says slowly. “It depends on your definition of love.” Charles’ expression twists into something Vance hasn’t seen before. Charles’ hand touches his face and his palm is warm on Vance’s cheek. Vance smiles shakily at Charles before dropping his eyes again to the bedding

“I don’t really know what that kind of love is supposed to be like.” He shrugs and leans into Charles’ touch. “So I don’t know. Maybe. I could’ve loved him.” He hesitates. “I know that I had, have, feelings for him but.” He trails off and sighs. “I don’t know.” Feelings are confusing, even moreso when Charles’ hand is against his cheek, so soft and gentle. 

Charles sticks to him. He lays them both down onto the bedding, it’s big enough for the both of them. Charles curls against his side and tentatively splays a hand across his chest. He feels exhausted all of a sudden, as if answering the one question Charles asked him has drained him of all his energy. 

“If you love him. Would you go back to him?” Charles’s voice drops in volume until the last word is barely a whisper. Vance lets out a breath and turns over to look at Charles. His eyes are still pinned, although not as they were when Vance first got to the tent. He shakes his head, meeting Charles’ eyes.

“Why would I?” He counters softly. He reaches out with a hand to touch Charles’ chest, like Charles is doing to him. “I’m happy here with you.” And he is happy, even if he doesn’t understand why Charles is asking all of these questions. He feels at home on the  _ Ranger _ , feels at home with Jack and Anne and most of all Charles.

Charles drowsily smiles back and Vance lets out another small breath. Charles’ hand moves and pulls him close, until their flush against each other. Charles presses his face into Vance’s chest and trails a hand down Vance’s back. Vance, now tired, presses his face into Charles’ hair anyway and inhales. Since Charles is safe and the tension he’d been trying to get rid of with the girls has bled out of his body, he lets himself drift off while hugging an arm around Charles’ waist.

He misses Charles murmuring an _I love you_ against his chest.

 

* * *

 

 

Anne leaves the tent, and then Vance pushes into it and Charles’ heart stops. Vance’s lips are kissed raw and pink. He looks flushed in the orange flickering light from the lamp in their tent. The expression on Vance’s face is honest and open and he’s looking at Charles with concern, Charles aches.

He reaches out for Vance before he can stop himself. Vance looks so pretty. He thinks he says something, tries to move. “Jack said he was goin’ to get you.” He mumbles. 

“Yeah he got me. You okay Capt’n?” He gets the sudden urge to just take another hit and tries to lift himself forward to reach for the pipe, before realizing it’s not where he left it.

Vance comes down onto the bedding to kneel next to him and then shifts to sit next to him. Charles clings against his better judgement—like he has any better judgement right now. He slings an arm around whatever part of Vance’s leg he can reach and hugs it close. 

“It’s not here.” Right, Anne took it and slapped his hand. “Charles?” Hmm he likes the way Vance says his name, it makes him feel warm inside. “Are you okay?” 

“M’havin’ a crisis Vance.” It slips out of his mouth. Is that how he’s going to describe what he’s doing to himself, a damn crisis. He inhales. Vance smells like sea salt and the beginnings of the rain and his pants smell like he’s spilled rum on them. Vance presses a hand between his shoulder blades and drags it across his skin, down his back, following the curve of his spine. It drags a long whine out of him that makes him flush red out of embarrassment. 

Charles latch onto Vance when he lays down next to him. He buries his face against the thin linen of Vance’s shirt, gasping quietly to himself and inhales more of Vance’s scent. Vance touches the side of his face softly and then presses the back of his hand to Charles’ forehead. He stores the action away into his brain, how sweet Vance looks with concern written on his face.

“Charles do you have any water?” Vance asks softly. Charles nods half-heartedly against his shoulder, water would be nice, there’s a pitcher lying around somewhere. It would help how warm he’s feeling, how out of it he’s feeling. “Are you okay to let me go get it?” Charles nods hesitantly, he doesn’t want Vance to move, just wants to hold him and never let go but water is good.

Vance leaves his side and Charles wants to whimper and reach out for him. Vance comes back with his pitcher of water and a cup and makes him sit up. He does his best to get closer to Vance, throwing a leg over his lap haphazardly and shakily breathing against his shoulder. 

“M’fucked up bad.” He rasps against Vance, because he did. He can’t tell Vance about his feelings, it’d be like taking advantage of him. Vance joined his crew to get  _ away _ from a captain that fancied him.

“What?” Charles shakes his head, what can he say that doesn’t sound incredibly stupid right now. Vance doesn’t comment and holds the cup of water under his chin. “Hey you need to drink this for me? Okay?” 

He’d honestly do anything Vance asked him at this point in time. He’s falling all over again, like he’s nineteen again except it’s a different blonde, brown eyes instead of blue, Vance’s radiance instead of Eleanor’s confidence. If Teach was here now he’d be getting smacked across the back of his head, again.

Charles nods against him and lifts his head, god he can barely hold his head up, why is Vance taking care of him? Vance tucks his hand into his hair and Charles wants to cry just a little bit, wants to lean forward and kiss Vance slowly and softly. His fingers shake against the cup, barely able to grasp onto it. Vance helps him, curls his fingers on top of his own. He wants to hold Vance’s hand.

Once he’s done swallowing down the water, Vance takes the cup away from him and wipes gently at the water that streams down the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. Once Charles is done with the cup, Vance sets it down, not caring if it tips over. His fingers brush against the trickle of water from the corner of Charles’ mouth and he leans in closer to use his sleeve and brush it away. 

“Did you love him?” Charles asks impulsively. He props himself up against Vance’s arm and watches the way Vance curls inwardly on himself. Vance drops his eyes and averts his gaze. Charles flinches inwardly, he fucked up didn’t he. He reaches out to comfort him, his shaky fingers grazing the corner of Vance’s mouth.

“Did you?” Why is he asking this? Charles groans inwardly at himself, mentally face palming. He just wants—needs—to know.

“I suppose.” He says slowly. Charles heart rises into his throat and it sinks in his chest. So Eleanor was right, Vance loved Flint. Eleanor was  _ right _ . “It depends on your definition of love.” Oh. He reaches out and presses a deliberate palm to Vance’s cheek, trying—he thinks he’s trying—to comfort him. Vance smiles at him, barely and then looks away again.

“I don’t really know what that kind of love is supposed to be like.” Vance shrugs and Charles gets ready to pull away from him, stopping when Vance pushes his face back against his hand.. “So I don’t know. Maybe. I could’ve loved him.” Charles’ chest aches. “I know that I had, have, feelings for him but.” He trails off and sighs. “I don’t know.” 

Charles tries to shuffle closer to him, wants to wrap Vance into a hug. Vance lays them both down onto the bedding, their bedding, and then lays on his back. He reaches out towards Vance, places a tentative hand on his chest, wanting to just, do something to help. He rubs his thumb over the sliver of skin that shows from under Vance’s open shirt. 

“If you love him. Would you go back to him?” He whispers. The idea that Vance would go back to Flint kills him. It genuinely does kill him, if Vance was going to leave him now. Charles almost cries when Vance turns over to look at him, laying on his side so they’re facing each other. 

“Why would I?” Vance’s voice is so soft. He reaches out, touches Charles’ chest and mirrors his hand.  “I’m happy here with you.” Oh. Charles’ cheeks warm. Vance smiles at him. Charles thinks he might be blushing at Vance, blushing because of Vance.

He pulls Vance close, just wants proximity and physical contact right now. He hides his blushing face against Vance’s chest, tangles his legs with Vance’s and breathes in the scent of ozone and sea salt. He feels Vance push his nose into his hair and drowsily tries to press his face further against Vance. He likes this, needs this. He purrs, a rumble deep in his chest and Vance slings an arm around this waist, holding him in place.

He feels safe like this. Vulnerable like this, it’s nothing like how he was with Eleanor. Vance’s breathing evens out slowly and Charles is starting to feel a lot more tired, but a hell of a lot better than before. “I love you.” He tests the words out loud, against Vance’s chest. If he can say them when Vance can’t hear him. He can just pretend that he can get away with it.


	6. Chapter 6

Charles wakes up groggily, sunlight filtering through the many layers of the tent to splash across his face. He’s sprawled out on top of Vance’s chest, his chin tucked into the dip of his chest, under his sternum. He lets out a muffled and contented groan against Vance’s chest, burying his face back down against him. 

He brushes his lips affectionately over Vance’s chest before the soft sounds of conversation outside his tent grasp at the edges of his attention. He rolls off of Vance and kisses Vance’s hairline before he sluggishly sits up. He pauses, realizing what he’s just done. He turns his head to stare down at Vance, still snoring quietly on the bed, his face just scrunched up slightly. He’s cute.

He waits a moment, two moments, Vance still snores and he relaxes. He arches his back until his joints crack. He doesn’t bother with a shirt, pulling his hair back quickly to look the slightest bit presentable to duck outside and glare at the offending crew members.   

Jack is outside of his tent, boot tapping expectantly in the sand with Anne next to him. 

“Ah, you’re awake.” Jack greets with a smile. His voice is entirely too smug for the pounding in Charles’ head. He raises a finger to interrupt Jack’s next sentence. Jack rolls his eyes, slightly indignant, but he shuts his mouth all the same. Charles ducks back into the tent and snatches up what he hopes is a clean shirt from the floor, pulling it over his head.

Vance is still snoring quietly on the bed, now curled up on himself, like Charles was the only thing that kept him asleep on his back. Charles smiles fondly down at him, before he quickly and gently drags one of the thin blankets over Vance’s frame. He snatches up a cheroot.

He ducks back out of the tent, stifling a yawn before meeting Jack’s eyes. “What?” He asks, squeezing his eyes shut as the clouds drift past the sun and more light shines down onto them. “What is it?” 

“Miss Guthrie’s been spreading rumours about you all morning.” Jack crosses his arms across the pale mustard shirt he’s wearing. “Something about you taking advantage of the innocent.” 

“Right.” Tension makes itself known in his shoulders. Charles groans lowly. “She’s fucking pissed isn’t she?” 

“Making a habit of slandering your name to anyone in her place who’ll listen.” Jack adds. “The men have been putting a stop to it among the other crews.” Violence is the only deterrence that the men of Nassau understand, thank god for Jack’s diplomacy and his crew. “But you’re going to have to do something about her.” 

“Fucking humans.” Charles curses under his breath.

“You shouldn’t have fucked said human.” Jack retorts. Charles raises an eyebrow at him, lighting the cheroot deftly with his fingers and raising it to his lips, inhaling sharply. Yes he knows that, now anyway. He wasn’t that smart when he was nineteen and falling in love with Eleanor Guthrie. 

“I’ll deal with her.” He waves a hand dismissively.

“If word of what she’s saying gets back to Flint.” Charles lets the cheroot hang from the corner of his mouth, hands stopping from where they’re being lowered from his face. 

“What, is she saying exactly?” He glares stonily at Jack. Anne’s hands snap to her swords by her waist and he raises a hand in surrender. 

“She’s-” Jack hesitates for a second. “She’s implying that you seduced Vance away from Flint’s crew to get back at him.” 

“Right.” He takes in a breath of smoke. Charles blows smoke in front of his face and turns away from his and Vance’s shared tent and starts walking. 

“Wait. Where are you going?” Jack calls out after him.

“To go fucking deal with her.” He calls back without even looking over his shoulder. His blood boils as he walks. He’s almost a hundred percent sure he’s leaving the sand smoking in a trail behind him, maybe a few shiny shards of glass.

He storms up towards Eleanor’s place with a single thought in mind. He’s going to make her regret it. He pushes past Mr. Scott and O’Malley easily, the stormy look on his face deterring them from actually trying to stop him. They stammer excuses that Eleanor’s busy. 

He slams her door open, relishing in the way she jumps when the door knobs leave dents in her walls.

“Charles if you-”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!” He interrupts her, almost roaring the words. She flinches back and he grins widely, his teeth bared, eyes glinting to the point of glowing. “Are you so fucking petty that you’ve lost my affections you’re willing to throw someone I care about into the line of fire?” He rounds the table between him and Eleanor. 

She raises her hand and opens her mouth to defend herself. His hand snatches out, gripping at her throat and squeezing. Sparks fly, not the romantic kind, Charles’ hands warm against her throat, until they’re too hot to bear.

“Not a fucking word comes out of you.” He squeezes tighter, pushing back until he’s pressing her against the wall. “Fuck’s the matter with you.” He spits, teeth bared in her face. “Humans are pitiful.” He glares down at her as she gasps and scrambles at his fingers weakly.

Flames dance behind his eyes, anger courses through him, white-hot and almost controlling him. Eleanor gasps weakly under his hand, her struggles slowly becoming weaker under his grip. He wants to kill her, throwing Vance out to the mercy of the other crews like that, even indirectly, it’s personal, it’s an attack against him. An attack against Charles Vane.

Vance, no matter how loyal or rash, wouldn’t kill Eleanor Guthrie, no matter her sins. 

Charles drops her. She crumples to the floor with a dull thud, desperately gasping and clutching at her throat. He stares down at her, tempted to deliver a swift kick to her skull. If this were any other person, any other man, he wouldn’t hesitate. She turns her head to stare up at him, wide-eyed with both anger and fear. 

“You come near him, you come anywhere near him.” He threatens. “I’ll kill you. You talk to him, talk about him, mention one word of him, even think about him.” He snarls. “I’ll kill you and raze everything you love into the fucking ground.” He lets his hand spark a small flame and plays with it as it dances across his palm.

She doesn’t speak, but he knows she wants too. He can read her just as well as she can read him. She can see that he’s serious. He turns away sharply and stalks out of the room. He doesn’t bother with the doors, just makes his way down the stairs with everyone’s eyes on him. Jack is standing downstairs, next to Anne, next to the bar, as is most of his crew—Vance and a couple others not included thank god.

Jack holds out a mug of rum towards him and he tips it back, relishing in the way is skates down his throat.

“So I take it those rumours will stop.” The corner of Jack’s mouth quirks upwards when he grunts a nod of confirmation towards him. “Good.” Jack hides his smile behind his own cup. Anne leans into him and whispers something into his ear, and then vacates the space as his side quickly, almost too quick. She disappears from the room with ease, Jack doesn’t seemed too bothered by it.

“What’s on the schedule for today?” He asks Jack nonchalantly. Sometimes Jack has errands for him to run, meetings, something or rather. 

“Hmm.” Jack hums, tapping his fingers against the side of his cup. There’s the earnings from the brothel I need to discuss with you but it’s no big deal and you have a meeting with Hornigold later, you should take Vance with you.” 

“Vance?” Normally he’d jump at the chance to take Vance with him for a meeting, but the way Jack is just slightly smug behind his cup has him scrutinizing his quartermaster’s expression. “Not you or Anne? Vance?”

“Hmm, oh yes, Anne is busy and I need to concentrate on the new schedule for our next raid, figured that tonight would be the best time since Anne won’t be around.” He offers in lieu of an explanation. Charles nods, still suspicious, but he agrees to it all the same.

“Alright. I’ll wake him up when it’s closer to the time of the meeting.” Charles muses. Vance would still be asleep. Charles swears if he didn’t share a tent with him, he’d be dragging a half-asleep Vance up before every one of their raids. The only reason that Vance even gets up on time is because Charles purposely makes a racket to stir him from his sleep.

“Maybe you should head back to your tent and check on him. He did look after you last night.” Jack smiles behind his cup. 

“Right.” Charles rolls his eyes with an inward groan. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” He drawls. Jack simply winks at him and shoos him away from the bar. “You’re all meddling assholes.” Charles grumbles, it’s mostly to himself, as he drops the mug of rum onto the bartop. 

“We are for good reason.” Charles rolls his eyes as Jack calls out from behind him while he walks away. Maybe he can get a few more hours of sleep curled up with Vance before that meeting with Hornigold.

He makes it back down to his tent, pushing in as quietly as he can before stripping out of his shirt. Vance has turned over, wrapping the blanket around him so that he looked like a roll. Charles chuckles to himself, before kicking off his boots and crawling into the bed next to Vance, sliding an arm around his waist. He settles along the line of Vance’s back, nosing the nape of his neck ready to settle down back into a comforting sleep.

Vance shifts, mumbles something and rolls over haphazardly, flattening Charles onto his back. Charles huffs as Vance lifts his face, sleepy-eyed and playful. “Mornin’ Charles.” He says half-heartedly through a yawn, a sleepy smile spread across his face before laying his head back down. 

Charles hums, stroking his hand through Vance’s hair. “Morning.” He says lowly. Vance settles back down on his chest, an arm strewn around his waist.

“Are you feeling better?” Vance whispers against him. He stiffens, just for a split second but Vance feels it. He raises his head again, shuffling up so that he’s inches away from Charles’ face. Charles feels a flush settle over his face, nodding minutely. 

“I am.” And he is, despite going to confront Eleanor earlier, spending the night curled up with Vance was grounding. “Thank you.” He says in a whisper, like if he says it any louder Vance will change his mind and leave.

“Hmm, don’t mention it, is what we do.” Vance lays his head back down on his chest. He’s not entirely wrong. Sometimes Vance wakes up and he’s gasping about something or rather, memories he can’t quite make out in his dreams that scare him. Charles has been there each time.

They lay there for awhile, not actually sleeping. Vance traces patterns across the fabric of his shirt. Charles presses his nose into his hair and breathes in the heady scent of ozone and rain. It washes over him and soothes him. 

“Jack’s set up a meeting with Hornigold tonight. He wants you to go with me, says he’s busy or something.” Charles mentions absentmindedly, his fingers playing with Vance’s braids, into the quiet of the tent. Vance makes a noise in response, nodding against him before comfortably settling back down on the mattress.

“Why’s Jack want me to go?” Vance mumbles against his chest. He leans against the pillow, affectionately brushing his fingers along Vance’s hairline. Vance is cute when he’s sleepy, Charles smiles to himself before he knocks the look of his face. 

“You still tired?” Maybe Vance doesn’t want to go and Jack will have to go with him after all. “Want me to tell Jack to come instead?” 

“Hmm?” Vance shifts on his chest. “No, not really.” Then Vance props himself up onto his elbow and looks down at him with his hair falling over his shoulders and Charles feels his stomach warm and turn.

“Let’s not get up yet?” Charles suggests, although it comes out with a soft stammer as Vance meets his eyes. He’s not blushing like a boy with a crush, not at all. Vance’s eyes sparkle at that, and he enthusiastically burrows back down into the blankets next to Charles and then wraps himself around him.

Charles lifts his arms and lets Vance scoot closer until he’s half laying on top of his chest. Vance settles down on him in a way that’s entirely too comfortable to be anywhere remotely near platonic and Charles squashes down a bit of hope in his chest. Then Vance bats his eyelashes at him and he almost chokes on his own tongue.

“Play with my hair again?” Vance asks him with wide eyes. He can’t resist, wrapping an arm around Vance’s shoulders so he can card his fingers through Vance’s hair. 

Alright it’s very obvious that he is in love with Vance.

 

* * *

 

The meeting with Ben Hornigold is uncomfortable from the start. Immediately, when Vance steps into Hornigold’s room after Charles the atmosphere shifts. Hornigold isn’t expecting him to come in after Charles. His men shift their weight where they’re standing and hands subtly-not-so-subtly move to their pistols. 

“Where’s Rackham?” Hornigold barks, eyeing the door to see if anyone else is coming in.

“Sorting things out under my instruction.” Charles intervenes smoothly before anyone can add anything else. His blunt words diffuse the tensions with ease. No one really wants to challenge Charles Vane. “Vance is Jack’s second so he’s here in his place, surely I don’t have to explain further.” Charles steps across the room and pulls a chair from the table, settling down onto it. 

Vance follows, Hornigold and his men are tracking his movements, until he pulls up the chair next to Charles and props his elbows onto the desk, smugly eyeing Hornigold.

“Well then.” Hornigold huffs, but gestures at his men to sit at the table. The two of his men pull chairs from the table and settle down from them. Negotiations and the meeting, go slow. Too slow. Vance settles with his elbows on the table as the meeting drags on. They argue about the fort, the behaviour of Hornigold’s men, over their duties to Eleanor Guthrie—which Charles none too lightly reminds them that the only duties they have are to bring back cargo for her to sell. Hornigold bristles. Vance yawns.

“We can’t expect a boy to understand these matters.” One of Hornigold’s men scoffs towards him. Vance cocks an eyebrow, staring at him.

“I’m sorry what did you just say?”

“We can’t expect,  _ a boy _ ,” The man spits over to Charles. Vance bristles, fingers tapping along the wood of the table. “To understand the going ons of business, when he’s too busy fancying after Ca-”

Vance stands abruptly, interrupting him with a slam of his palms onto the table. “First of all, may I fucking remind you that this crew and it’s Captain, have come to terms with what we are to Miss Guthrie and have established clear terms of our business with her.” He darts his eyes over to Hornigold. “Second of all, may I fucking remind you exactly why exactly we’re having this meeting, said reason being that your crew seems to have an issue with having some fucking balls.

“Third of all, may I fucking remind you that while you’re considered to be in charge of protection of Nassau, you’ve done a shite fucking job of it and this meeting is supposed to be discussing how we can solve that to improve business and the economy here. This meeting is not to be discussing my fucking age, when clearly I’m not the missing village idiot anyone in this room should be worried about. I may not be the fucking quartermaster of the  _ Ranger _ , and I may not fucking be Long John Silver,” 

He takes a breathe. “But I will fucking appeal to every single of of the men in Naft, Lawrences and Flint’s crews and every other man on this island and remind them about just how cosy the lot of you have gotten with a seat at Miss Guthrie’s hand, and I’ll show you exactly what this fucking  _ boy _ can do to your business here on Nassau.” Vance spits with a tone of finality in his voice, glaring at Hornigold’s man.

The room is deathly quiet as Hornigold raises his hand, gesturing for his men to sit back down. “I apologize for the… impulsivity of my men.” Hornigold glances over to them before he leans forward. “Surely, we can settle those concerns in a continued civilised manner, as before.” 

Vance breathes in deeply, closing his eyes as he sits back down Charles nudges him, before he opens his eyes and nods. “Of course.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hornigold can’t protect this island his men are fucking useless! Not to mention the man’s got his head so far up his arse that he’s talking shit.” Vance rambles as they walk down towards the tents. 

Night has settled over Nassau, Jack had turned up at the end of the meeting, tapping his foot while waiting for them to finish and Anne had joined them halfway down towards the beach from wherever she had disappeared too while Vance was in the middle of recounting the meeting to Jack.

“It’s rather an inconvenience actually.” Jack chimes in.

“What do you want me to do about it.” Charles raises an eyebrow. 

“Right now he’s in position with Eleanor’s ear in one hand, and the fort in another. The only way that we can take him down from his podium of self righteousness if we take one or the other away from him.” Vance crosses his arm over his chest and frowns. 

“I still can’t believe you managed to scold Ben Hornigold and two of his crew members.” Jack looks at him with awe. “Scolded him, like a child.”

“They insulted my age Jack.” Vance pouts, squeezing his arms around himself. “I’m not fucking stupid just because I’m twenty three.”

“You’re not stupid at all. What was it you said? ‘ _ not the missing village idiot anyone in this room should be worried about’  _ that was genius.” Jack claps an arm on his shoulder.

“So we take the fort from him.” Anne speaks up from next to them. “We’re not letting him go anywhere near the Cunt,” She nods over to Charles, who stares back with mock affront. “So the fort it is.” 

“He still is Ben Hornigold.” Charles intervenes smoothly. “He’s still a respected Captain among our ranks.” Charles reminds them.

Jack glances at Vance, something twinkling behind his eye. Vance returns it with the same look. Charles sighs, flicking his gaze between the two of them before raising his hands in exasperation and the slightest bit of resignation. 

“Let me guess, by the time the both of you are done? He won’t be?” Charles asks with a shake of his head.

“You know us too well Chaz.” Jack laughs., before they’ve reached their tents. Anne ducks in first. Jack lingers for a moment, whispering to Vance about something before Charles interrupts. “Please save it for after we get back with our prize.” He says to the two of them.

Jack and Vance nod before Jack ducks inside the tent after Anne.

They both duck into their shared tent. Vance strips off immediately, out of his vest and his holster before sprawling onto the bed. Charles takes his time, tucking his pistol under the pillow before pulling his shirt over his head.

“You’re really going to go after Hornigold for calling you a boy.” Charles murmurs in slight disbelief. 

Vance chuckles shaking his head. “No, oh no, not at all. Hornigold is in no place to hold both that fort and a seat as Eleanor Guthrie’s advisor. That fort, it’s as good as ours, not just for implying I'm incompetent because of my age.” Vance lays back onto the bedding, stretching out with his arms high over his head, poking his feet under the folds of the blankets, ready for sleep even though they've been sleeping all day.

“What for?” Charles asks, dropping onto his knees before stretching out onto the bedding himself.

“Well Hornigold underestimated me…” Vance pauses for a moment. “So because I can.” 

Charles hums thoughtfully, filing the piece of information away before wrapping an arm around Vance. “Get some sleep.” He murmurs. “We leave tomorrow.”

“Aye aye Capt.” Vance mutters in response, already turning on the bed to press his face into Charles’ chest. “Aye aye.” 

 

* * *

 

Jack’s schedule ends up being absolute shit. They seem to have missed the prize they were chasing completely, the ship nowhere in sight, just the waves that crash against the hull of the  _ Ranger _ and nothing else. Then, Jack flourishes a map and says not all hope is lost, and they head over to an island instead to search for buried treasure.

The island they end up on is actually a small island near Port Royale. They weigh anchor on the south side of the island, taking the launches in towards the beach. They reach the sand with no idea what they’re actually looking for. The beach itself was empty, the only noises were the gulls and crashing of waves on sand.

Vance and Jack pour over the map, trying to reorient themselves. Two days later, they’re hacking through the forest, trying to figure out what direction they have to go in to find the cave system that Jack has circled over the map. Charles and Anne watch them with amusement on their faces, as they argue back and forth over the map.

“There should be a town in about three kilometres and then the cave system is just on the outskirts of it.” Jack practically yells at Vance. It’s been three hours and Charles barked out an order to settle down to camp once he, Anne and the crew realized that Jack and Vance were going nowhere. 

“Look. You see that?” Vance shoves the map into Jack’s face, finger tapping across a line drawn on the page. “That’s a river right there, we should be following said river to said town, but we haven’t seen any water apart from the rain and fucking ocean.”

“I swear to god Vance.” Jack groans. “We don’t need the river if we just head North West.” He exclaims. 

Charles turns to look at Anne, the amusement on his face giving way to exasperation. His quartermaster and quartermaster in training have been fighting for the better part of the day and at this rate, they’ll be going nowhere. Just when it looks like Vance is going to dive at Jack and tackle him, he raises a smug eyebrow and jerks his head wordlessly over towards Jack and Vance.

Anne happily moves from where they’ve been leaning against a tree, marching over to the two of them and swiftly grabbing Jack’s ear between her fingers. He can’t hear what she’s saying to him as he catches her lips moving. He sees Vance smile and laugh, only for her to grab his ear as well. She drags the both of them over as they squirm from the hold on their ears, before she deposits them in front of him.

“Perhaps I should just make Anne our quartermaster.” He muses. There’s an indignant protest from both Jack and Vance, before they look at each other. He raises a hand before they can launch into another argument. “Don’t start. We’ve wasted enough time. Do you know how to find your mystery treasure or not?” 

“Well-” Jack begins.

“Jack’s wrong.” Vance interrupts and both Charles and Anne groan.

“I’m not wrong!” 

“Figure it out please, the two of you.” He sighs. It’s not their fault, tensions are running high because no one wants to return to Nassau without a prize. “Without fighting.” He adds when Vance looks ready to argue. Vance turns to him and the corner of his mouth curves upwards into a smile. 

“We have two choices. We follow the river,  _ if _ , we can find it, or we go North-West like Jack’s suggested.” 

“We need to stop into that town, supplies, food, we can’t go through the rest of our rations, lest we starve on the way back to Nassau.” Jack adds, glancing back down at the map in his hands.

“Then we get moving North West to that town Jack mentioned to restock our supplies, and if we happen to find that river on the way there.” He glances at Vance. “So be it.” 

Vance seems to slump away at the decision, but he doesn’t protest. He nods, when Jack glances over to him for confirmation. “Leave at first light?” He suggests. Jack smiles and leans over to clap a hand on his shoulder, before grinning.

“Knew I could count on you both.” Charles praises. 

 

* * *

 

Jack is in fact right, despite the shitty schedule and the impossibility of that map actually being right. The town is in the middle of a festival, they don’t speak much English, but there are a multitude of decorations that are so bright and colourful that Vance thinks he’s going blind.

“What do you think they’re celebrating?” He whispers over to Charles. One of the few villagers that actually speak English has been watching their crew every since they stumbled into the outskirts on the city, but once he seemed to realize they weren’t a threat, he had slunk off to get a drink.

“Can’t tell.” Charles rumbles softly. The both of them are leaning against a wooden support beam watching the rest of the crew relax and drink and dance along with the rest of the villagers. Jack sidles past them with a smile and a drink in his hand, sauntering to the music.

“So why aren’t you dancing?” Charles asks him softly, leaning in over the beat of the music.

“Don’t have anyone to dance with.” Vance replies, eyes still on the crew. He won’t be quartermaster for a long time coming, no that’s Jack’s job, but he’s a pretty good second, watching over the crew so Jack can have some fun. He leans closer and bumps his shoulder against Charles.

“What about you? No one catches your fancy?” Vance pokes at him. Charles’ eyes dart across the room and then settle onto Vance’s face. 

“Maybe.” He mutters a bit lowly, before he straightens his back and turns to face Vance with his body. Vance smiles up at him, bright-eyed and reaches out for one of Charles’ hands. Charles lets him slip their fingers together. Vance tugs them out over towards the dancefloor, Charles’ smile is soft and gentle as Vance twirls, feet crossing and stepping around to the beat.

He’s danced before, taught himself for fun. Now, he thinks it’s entirely been worth it because the look on Charles’ face as he steps around him is one of wonder and Vance feels a sense of pride that he’s caused it. He turns around Charles, holds Charles’ arm over his head and ducks under it and then out from under it with the swiftest of actions, all while staring at the look on Charles’ face and Vance wants to kiss him.

He twirls himself under Charles arm, as the music speeds slightly, before pausing. The stillness now is unnatural for a moment, to himself and Charles even sways expecting him to move. Charles looks down at him with a soft grin. “You sure you can keep up?” He teases at Charles.

Charles grins and darts to grasp his other hand. He gets pulled close by Charles, like the other couples in the small tavern are being held. His breath hitches as Charles’ smiles at him, a proper, genuine smile. He blushes when Charles presses past his cheek. “What’s the matter Vance? Cat got your tongue?” Charles breathes against his ear, his hair brushing by Vance’s cheek.

“Hmm?” Vance hums distractedly. Charles is pressed against him, not completely flush, but he’s warm and distracting and Vance wants to lean in and kiss the corner of his lips and then make out with him for hours. Charles sways with the music, stepping his feet in the way he had while he was dancing circles around Charles.

“You’re a quick learner.” He laughs up at Charles. He catches a hint of pink dusting along Charles’ cheeks and relents in his teasing, this time he dances back, properly as the both of them step and follow the beat. Charles twirls him like they’re made for the dance they’re copying from the locals. There’s no stumbling or stepping on each other’s feet, no fumbling hands. His fingers are firmly secured in Charles’ hands as is his body as Charles takes the lead and he follows.

Vance smiles and leans in and lets them both sway to the music. He thinks they’ve danced for hours when Jack stumbles by again, still another drink in his hand but this time Anne isn’t too far behind him. He’d abandoned his boots almost two hours ago, dancing barefoot next to Charles. Without the heel in his boot, Charles is another inch taller than him, smiling down with relaxed eyes.

Vance’s feet are sore, carrying his boots in one hand as they step across the tavern and try to keep track of their crew. The music had trailed off, the band retiring to their own beds for the night. Their crew is mostly sprawled outside the tavern, already half asleep. They’d been given a row of cabin like structures to sleep in, and as usual, he’d ended up sharing with Charles.

“That was nice.” He murmurs, still holding Charles’ hand as they step through the doorway. Charles is quiet and when he turns around, his Captain is leaning against the doorframe, looking at their joined hands with an almost thoughtful expression.

“You do that often? Dancing?” Charles muses, still holding onto his hand. 

“Hmm? Yeah sometimes.” When they’re docked in Port Royal and Tortuga he disappears to go off dancing at one of the warehouses. “Don’t usually have a partner taller than me though.” He laughs, rocking forward onto his tiptoes and then rocking back onto flat feet.

Charles laughs with him, before tugging him close. Vance stumbles, less than graceful and plants his hands on Charles’ chest to stop him from falling face first into him. 

“Charles?”

“It suits you.” Vance perks up as Charles comments. “Dancing.” He stares up at Charles, bright eyed and with pink dusting over his cheeks. 

“Yeah?” He tilts his head. Charles’ head tilts with him. 

“Hmm. You looked pretty.” Charles says without hesitation, before he pauses. Vance can see the gears turning in his head, processing what he’s just said. “Shit.” Slips out of his mouth and he steps back.

“Wait.” Vance curls his fingers into Charles’ shirt, tugging him back, until they’re both chest to chest. “You think I’m pretty?” He trails a finger experimentally across Charles’ exposed collarbone. 

Charles looks speechless for a moment, before he’s dipping down, wrapping an arm around the small of his back and kissing him. Vance’s eyes flutter shut, and he opens his lips, letting Charles press further into him, touching his back and side with eager hands. They stumble back into the cabin, towards one of the beds. Charles slides a hand up his shirt and teases at his nipple, grinning against his mouth when he moans. Vance retaliates by reaching down and squeezing Charles’ ass unashamedly. 

Charles pulls away, both with surprise and a dark, hooded expression in his eyes. “If you don’t fuckin’ know that you’re pretty.” Charles growls in a low voice. He ducks back in to kiss Vance again, this time biting at his bottom lip playfully. Vance giggles against him, pulling them both down onto the mattress and instinctively wrapping his legs around Charles’ waist, dragging him close until their hips are rutting against each other.

“Wait.” Charles gasps against him and Vance pulls away. “Not like this.” Charles shakes his head, backing off. 

“What is it?” 

“Do you want this? Not just, this.” Charles gestures towards the bulge in his pants. “But this.” He waves his hand back and forth between the both of them. “Because…” Charles hesitates and grits his teeth. Vance pauses from what he’s doing on the bed and watches him. “Because if this is just a quick fuck-” 

“I’ve got feelins for you if that’s what you’re worried about Charles.” Vance pipes up, hands dropped into his lap. “Definitely more than feelings for your cock if that’s what you’re asking me.”

“But Flint?” Charles lifts his head.

“Flint…” Vance hesitates before speaking again. “I won’t say I don’t got feelings for him Charles, cause I do, he was my first and I ain’t gonna forget that, but I’ve been around you, last seven months, and I like you, I like your laugh and your eyes and your hair and your smile. You.” Silence fills the cabin for a moment. Charles is standing there, Vance can’t tell if he’s going into shock, or if his heart has stopped but he hasn’t fallen over. He’s still, eyes still trained directly onto Vance.

“You like me.” Charles says slowly, eyes scanning Vance’s face.

“M’willin’ to call it love you muppet.” Vance laughs from the bed as Charles steps closer. Vance reaches out with his hands and takes Charles’ hands in his. “I reckon I love you just as much as I love Flint, so you’re not replacing him. You’re Charles Vane. There’s no comparing.” 

“You’ve got a way with words you know.” Charles laughs softly. “Is a lot more eloquent than I would’ve put it.” Vance chuckles against his lips as they kiss. There’s no rush between them, as Vance pulls Charles back down onto the bed, grinning up at his Captain. Vance kisses Charles slowly, lets Charles settle between his legs to bracket him to the bed.

By the time they’re naked, sweaty and tired. Vance is content to run his hand down the line of Charles’ spine. Charles raises his head from the pillow next to him, he turns to look Vance and Vance smiles back, sleepily, softly, distractedly tracing the knobs of Charles’ spine. He leans in and kisses Charles with the softest brush of lips. Charles turns with him, rolling them over so that Charles is on his back and Vance is settled on top of him with their legs tangled.

“So you love me.” Charles murmurs, tracing a hand on Vance’s bicep.

“Yep.” He nuzzles against Charles’ throat, kissing the hollow of it instinctively. Charles is so warm against him, it makes him sleepy, soothes him, acts like a blanket over him. He presses closer to Charles’ body and hitches a leg up so that it’s almost wrapped around Charles, tucked underneath the curve of his thigh. “You love me?”

“Is it any question that I do?” Charles reaches up and cups the side of his chin, Charles rubs a thumb over his lip, sighs contently when Vance gives way to the press of his thumb. 

“Well I mean now.” Vance mumbles, pressing his face further against Charles’ chest, nipping playfully at the tip of Charles’ thumb. “None, at all.” He kisses the bronzed expanse of Charles’ throat and closes his eyes. “Get the lantern love?” He adds drowsily.

“Hmm yeah get the lantern with me underneath you.” Charles mutters good-naturedly. All the same, he reaches out from underneath Vance, and puts out the fire in the lantern before curling an arm back around Vance.


	7. Chapter 7

On the Walrus, Flint stares over the horizon, towards Nassau. The raid they’d been on brought more cargo than he’d expected, their holdings full and the men’s spirit’s lifted. 

“Captain?” Billy calls out for him. He turns, eyes still lingering on the ships in the harbour. Billy and John are striding over towards him, John limping on his crutch, although he’s keeping up with Billy just fine. 

“About seven hours till we reach Nassau, how’s the inventory?”

“I’ll admit, I’ve made quite a mess of the books Captain.” John mutters sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. “I won’t have them done by the time we get to shore.” 

“Can’t Billy help you?” Billy was notoriously good at helping Vance when the inventory was causing them trouble last time. Flint sighs inwardly, eyes flicking over his bosun and John, he’s been missing Vance, brooding over the gap it’s left in the crew—the gap it’s left in him.

“I’ve tried Captain.” Billy rubs the back of his neck. Flint raises an eyebrow in response. “Well you see, John tried organizing the books the way Vance did’em but he did the pages in the wrong order and now we can’t really tell which is what anymore.” 

Flint pauses, inhaling sharply. “I’m sorry you did what?” 

John sheepishly rubs the back of his head, pushing his curls into the breeze. “Well it wasn’t really my fault, Vance’s system that he set up before leaving is pretty complex, you’d have to be him-”

“Then change it?” He interrupts. Because if he hears Vance mentioned one more time. 

“We kind of… can’t yet.”

It’s days like these where he wishes he could throw himself overboard and be done with the mess that is his crew. They haven’t been this bad since Vance left, taking all sense of organization and ability to keep the books in order (and a bit of Flint’s heart though he won’t admit it) with him. Flint straightens his back, his eyes dart over towards the captain’s cabin. 

“Fine. Then we wait before meeting with Miss Guthrie, have Mister Scott help us sort out the books.” It’s the only way they’re going to get the books done by then. 

“We could always dip over to Vane’s crew and  _ ask, _ ” Billy stresses the word, crossing his arms over his chest. “Vance for help.” 

“We could.” John adds. “If our Captain gets his head out of his ass and talks to Vance.” Flint can tell it was meant to be a whisper towards Billy, but it comes out a lot louder than he intends. John’s eyes widen when Flint shoots him a glare, before stalking away towards the Captain’s cabin and slamming the door shut behind him.

Through the peephole of the door. He sees Billy slap John on the back of his head, before Gates barks at them to get back to work. Dooley skims past them and then Flint turns away from the the peephole to glare at the offending books that brought on the conversation. 

They’re not wrong, ever since Vance left the books have fallen into disarray. He himself has tried to keep the books organized, keep the captain’s logs neat, but it’s incredibly hard to do that when you’re trying to lead a haphazard crew determined to get you to talk to a boy. He flicks through the books, reading Vance’s neat, thin writing. He runs a finger over the words.

He misses Vance. He sighs, mostly to himself and flips further through the books, until Vance’s handwriting dies out and it’s replaced with John’s, his own and BIlly’s. He snaps the book shut and turns to look out of the window, over the crashing waves of the ocean. Little memories of Vance are scattered around the Captain’s cabin. There’s a shirt that doesn’t belong to him tucked away in a chest, under Flint’s own clothes. A few books that aren’t really his type are on the bookshelf, next to Meditations. He runs his fingers over the hardcover of the captain’s log.

He’ll swallow his pride and ask Vance for help if the  _ Ranger _ is docked.

 

* * *

 

The  _ Ranger _ isn’t docked in Nassau, but Eleanor isn’t displeased by the state of the inventory books. Mister Scott offers to go through the inventory for this raid’s haul, with Billy and John’s assistance, and Flint settles into a chair next to Eleanor. As he gazes at her, he notes two marks across her throat, like fingers have been pressed so deeply into her skin that they’ve bruised her. She sits in her own chair, grasping her hands together as she leans her elbows on the surface on the table. Flint leans forward, eyes scanning her face.

“There’ll be some rumours around town.” She says stiffly. “You’re to ignore them if you or your crew hear any?” Flint raises an eyebrow in disbelief, leaning back in his chair.

“And what kind of rumours will I be hearing.” 

“They involve your boy.” She gestures dismissively with her hand. “Hornigold didn’t like that Captain Vane took Vance to a meeting in the fort instead of Rackham. Apparently the boy ran circles around his men with his words.” Eleanor’s face stills, a dark shadow passes over it for a moment, before it’s gone and a smile graced her lips. “They aren’t taking too kindly to it.”

His nods, thinking about Vance. If he’s hanging onto every word that Rackham says, he’s definitely going to be running circles around the men in Hornigold’s crew, they may be good pirates but they’re not very smart.

“The  _ Ranger _ is due back in a few days?” At Eleanor’s nod, he relaxes. “Surely we can have a meeting to sort out whatever the issue is.” 

“Of course. Now, let’s get back to the another problem.” She sits up straighter and leans over towards. Flint sits up and crosses his hands over the table.

 

* * *

 

Vance wakes up to Charles’ hair tickling his face, his own pressed into the side of Charles’ throat. Jack is hovering over the both of them, a lit torch in his hand, the flames licking around the air. 

“You two picked a great time to figure shit out.” Jack huffs above them. He turns his head to glare at Jack, before burying his face back against Charles’ sweat slick skin. Being stuck together in the humid jungle wasn’t a good idea, but he really is comfortable. Charles shifts under him, turning his head without opening his eyes.

“Fuck you Jack.” Charles mutters, flipping their quartermaster off. He giggles against Charles and then Charles sits up with an arm wrapped around him, pressing him close. “What do you want, sun’s not up yet.”

“I sent one of the crew to check out that cave system. You won't believe what's there.” Jack gestures with his torch. “If we’re to get that treasure out of there before the sun goes up. We need to start now.” 

Vance grumbles something from Charles’ throat, shifting on the bed until the blanket falls to his hips as he sits up. He lifts his head, raising his gaze to stare at Jack with half-hooded eyes before nodding and yawning. He stretches his arms out in front of him before rolling over Charles and out of the bed. 

“Give us two minutes hmm Jack?” Vance offers, brushing his knuckles over the line of Charles’ thigh before reaching for his clothes. Jack nods and leaves the room, as Vance starts to pull on his clothes. 

“You know.” Charles says as he gets out of bed and bends over for his trousers. “For a moment, I forgot we were here for a prize.” Vance turns around, pulling his shirt over his head before smiling at Charles. 

“Hmm, you thinking about domesticity?” Vance says teasingly. 

“No.” Charles shifts his weight on his feet for a moment before he makes his way over to Vance. Vance smiles up at him before reaching out to rub his thumb over the sharp line of Charles’ cheekbone. “Just distracted by you.” Charles says in a low, teasing tone. 

Jack knocks on the door of the cabin, three impatient raps of his knuckles on the wood before the both of them finally come outside, fully dressed.  “Alright, how much is actually down in those caves.” Vance asks as they start walking. The town is completely quiet, it isn’t morning yet, the sun hasn’t broken over the horizon, but it’s quite light out as they begin to trek down through trees and undergrowth following behind Jack.

By the time they break through the trees to a clearing, Vance can see that most of the crew has actually begun shifting the treasure out in crates. Where Jack got the crates from, he has no clue, but there are still a stack of empty ones a bit off to his right and there’s already a cart with filled crates.

“How much?” Vance asks.

“Enough to comfortably line our pockets for a while even with the cut to the Guthries.” Jack comments, propping his hands onto his hips and scanning over the working men.

“Well then, let’s get a move on before someone catches us.” Charles claps his hands together. They spend another two hours loading everything onto the cart. Now that it’s all there, squirreled into crates rather than down into the cave, it looks like less of an amount than it actually was. Vance lifts one of the handles that jut out from the cart at Jack’s instruction. Paul grabs the one behind him, and Hammond reaches for the one adjacent to Paul while Charles grips one of the handles himself.

Why Jack didn’t get them a damn horse to go with the cart, Vance doesn’t know. Once they finish the the two and a bit day trek through the humid trees however, the mood and morale of the crew has dropped, but now, the  _ Ranger _ is in sight. They’re all sweaty and tired, Vance has blisters on his hands from carrying the cart for most of the shifts, they ache when he tries to clench his fists.

They almost lost a crate or two of pieces of eight down in the undergrowth as they brought the cart down the path, but luckily, Jack was ready to snatch it up before it tipped off the cart and rolled down somewhere they couldn’t get too. On the beach, they wait.

Charles sends one of the three rowboats with Hammond and Paul to alert the men that were still on the  _ Ranger. _

 

* * *

 

__

The Walrus is there when they dock back in Nassau, prize down in their holdings and Vance is curled around the rigging like a octopus. He clings to the ropes, looking out over the water as they start loading out everything onto the launches. The treasure wasn’t as vast as it seemed on the treasure map, but none of them cared, there was enough of it that it didn’t cause any trouble among the crew to split it evenly, and give a share to the girl who’d sold Jack the information. 

Vance stares over towards the Walrus, slightly nervous. They weren’t going out for another prize after this, not yet anyway. There were a few mishaps on the way back from the island. The sails need mending and they definitely need to take a few days to recover from the rough summer tempest that had ripped through the Ranger like she was a toy boat and nothing more. 

They also lost three men overboard, two of them the riggers that Vance actually liked. Charles calls out his name and waves at him from the quarterdeck, with a half smile and he begins to scale down the ropes. By the time his feet touch the wood, Charles is a few steps away from him, his smile steady as they glance over at Nassau.

“Come on then. We have business to attend to.” Vance shoots him a brighter smile, gets one in return and he laughs. He wants Charles to hold his hand as they head over the side of the Ranger, as impractical as that would be. The closer they got to Nassau, the less affectionate they’d get to be out in public —not that they were hiding it from the crew or anything but, Flint, is there and who know what kind of trouble he and Charles holding hands would cause.

They row to shore, sneaking not so sneaky glances at each other as Jack mimes gagging behind them, that they can both see out of the corner of their eyes. Vance reaches out and slaps the back of his head before Anne can, laughing when Jack lets out an indignant gasp. Charles steps off the rowboat first and strides through the water. Unsurprisingly, Eleanor Guthrie is waiting for them with O’Malley and Mister Scott on the beach. Charles strides up to her, his back straight. Vance falls into step next to his left, flanking him while Jack and Anne step to his right. 

“Captain Vane.” Eleanor greets, firmly keeping her eyes off of Vance. Jack and Anne look smug from out of the corner of Vance’s eye, as Eleanor drones on in an entirely neutral tone about the prices they’re going to receive from any goods they’ve brought back. Vance brings out the little account book he has in his vest—he’s entirely glad he’s good at numbers, because now he can tell if Eleanor is ripping them off—and flicks through it, before handing it over towards Mister Scott.

“Please inform Missus Guthrie that is she doesn’t pay us at least a six percent markup from the current price she’s offering.” Vance begins in a sly tone. “There’ll be word spreading around town that she’s severely underpaying some of her best assets.” Mister Scott scans the page he’s flipped over to, once, twice and then he sighs and taps Eleanor on the shoulder. 

She doesn’t look particularly pleased that he’s run the numbers. A smugness wells up inside of him, as she sighs and amends her statement towards Charles about the pricing. Jack shoots him a hidden thumbs up and a smirk from the other side of Charles and Vance grins, the corner of his mouth curving upwards.

“Alright then.” Charles reaches out and shakes her hand with a stiffness he hadn’t entirely noticed before. Maybe their last fight was irreconcilable. Mister Scott hands him back his account book and he shoots the man a smile as well while slipping it into his pocket. Eleanor’s men head towards the launches, ready to shift the crates of goods they’d brought back along with their treasure.

“Don’t forget there’s a captain’s meeting later tonight.” She adds over her shoulder as she, O’Malley and Mister Scott begin to walk away. All four of them slump their shoulders, groaning in unison before turning to face each other.

“You think she scheduled it on purpose?” Vance asks, stretching his arms over his head, rolling his shoulders.

“Most likely.” Jack grumbles and shrugs his shoulders up past his ears.  

__

* * *

 

The Captain’s meeting is awkward to say the least. For one Flint didn’t even greet him as he followed Charles, Jack and Anne into the room. The captain’s start their meeting, and that’s where the trouble starts. Really because while the Captain’s are sitting in their respective seats and discussing matters that are actually important—Vance thinks Charles looks hilarious actually having to interact with them without him or Jack as a buffer—public speaker he may be, calm in the face of Flint, not so much. The rest of them, namely Jack, Anne, himself, Silver, Billy and Naft’s quartermaster Edward and his boatswain Jim, are fucking around and throwing bits and pieces at each other and trying to see which one of them will break first. 

Hornigold’s men weren’t invited to the meeting apparently and Gates is sitting with Flint in an attempt to keep his temper in check, so with just the lot of them there, there was no one ratting them out and O’Malley is shite at noticing them.Jack throws a teeny seashell at Billy, it bounces off his forehead and lands in his lap where he’s sat at the windowsill. Naft’s quartermaster lobs a small piece of scrunched up paper into his hair, Vance glares at him as he picks it out. John flicks a piece of bark at Jack, grinning when it thwacks across Jack’s nose. 

Flint and Charles seem to have noticed what they’re doing, because Charles smirks and Flint sends a dirty look over Charles’ shoulder when Jack lets a small sound escape him. Vance grins, his turn coming up after Anne’s and they’re about seven rounds into the game already. She has a small pebble he thinks, about half the size of her pinky finger and she flicks it into Edward’s face, nailing him on the nose.

The man doesn’t break, staring back with laughter in his eyes and a quirk to his lips. Vance picks his weapon, a small bead from one of his bracelets that he yanked apart on accident. He takes aim at John who’s watching him from next to Billy’s frame. John knows he’s the target, and Vance knows that John knows.

“Do it.” John mouths at him, challenging him, smirking behind his curls as they fall over his face. He flicks the bead, watches as it zips through the air.

Their faces drop in horror when it nails Flint right between the eyes instead of meeting John’s face on the other side of the room. Silence fills the room. Everyone stares at each other while Flint looks positively murderous. 

“Run.” John mouths at him from across the room, before Charles turns around to look at him with an eyebrow raised expectantly, half-raising out of his seat. He darts his eyes around the room. They’re the closest to the doors at any rate. Anne and Jack are already tense beside him, ready to run if need be. 

Charles flicks his eyes over to the door and the decision is made. Flint lunges across the the table with a roar, shoving whatever papers he has and the mug of rum he was drinking over, and Vance sprints towards the door and yanks it open. “It was an accident I was aiming for John.” He yells over his shoulder. He hears Charles, Jack and Anne laughing behind him, their own feet thudding into the ground as they sprint down the stairs of Guthrie’s place towards the street. 

There’s a yell behind the four of them. Thunder clashes above their heads and they startle, they sprint and run and they don’t stop until they catch sight of their tents on the beach and they’ve run through the sand to the safety of them. Vance doubles over, hands planted on the tops of his thighs as he tries to catch his breath.

“How the fuck did you miss Silver?” Charles half-pants and half-laughs at him, crouching with his hands pressed to his face. 

“I don’t fucking know.” He gasps, staring at the sand. “I just fucking aimed and you know sometimes my aim is shite.” 

“Fucking got Flint dead centre though.” Jack adds, his own hands planted on his hips as he stares back towards town and the fort. “You think they’re gonna come after us?”

“For what hitting Flint with a bead?” Anne says from under her hat.

“We disrupted the Captain’s meeting and we’ve been back for less than twelve hours.”

“It was an accident. I’m sure there’ll be a way to make it up to them.” Charles waves dismissively turning to look at Vance. “Still how did you miss.” 

Vance straightens with his eyebrows raised. “An accident. I misjudged how far John was. Not my fault Flint was in front of him.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this chapter 6 times for you guys and I'm still not happy with how Flint and Vance decided to talk to each other.

There is a way to make it up to Flint, they find out the next morning when Flint and Eleanor finally catch up to them. It’s that Vance has to help John sort out the books on the Walrus for the next few days, which means, well it means there’s the entire possibility of Vance being alone with Flint.

Vance hasn’t properly acknowledged Flint while they were one on one ever since he told his ex-captain that he was suffocating form his indecision. A part of him, pushed down inside him lit up at the opportunity of being near Flint again. The part of him that told himself it was okay that Flint gave him attention but didn’t properly treat him like a lover. It was the part of him that really loved Flint and how he was over the course of months they spent together.

 Charles looks like a vein in his forehead is about to burst at the mere thought that Flint is going to be in close quarters with him. With the way Flint is looking smug with his arms crossed over his chest, Vance thinks it might just happen.

He ducks over to Charles and slings and arm around his shoulder to steer him around from Flint’s gaze. He rubs a hand on Charles shoulder and when Charles glances down at him, Vance glances back up at him with a soft smile on his face. “I know you don’t want to do this.” He murmurs up at Charles. Charles huffs and if they were alone, Vance would say he was outwardly pouting.

“But I have to for the sake of the crew.” Vance can hear the disdain in Charles voice as he growls out the words. “You’re going to be with  _ him _ for at least two days.” Charles says, his tone petulant. “I was hoping to spend time with you, we could dance on the beach instead of you slaving over books all day.” Charles crosses his arms over his chest. Vance smiles softly at him and hugs him tighter around the shoulders. 

“We’ll be docked longer than two days Charles. The sails will take a week at most, four days at the quickest. I’ll have John stay with me I promise.” Charles’ face softens slightly, and he nods. He still looks uneasy at the prospect but waves his hand half-heartedly and dismissively. 

They walk back across the sand to relay their answer to Flint. Charles rubs his hand across Vance’s back as Flint frowns at their conditions, Charles’ conditions for John to chaperone the meeting. 

“I’ll meet you at the beach around noon.” Vance nods over to Flint. Flint frowns at him but doesn’t offer up another suggestion. “I have things to do.” Vance offers up as an explanation. There's a small glaring match between Flint and Charles over his shoulder that he physically drags Charles out of by pulling him down the beach towards their tents and away from Flint.

 

* * *

 

 

Officially they have four hours until Vance has to meet Flint on the beach. Charles drags him down into their bed and doesn't let him up from the mattress. Their shared kisses are chaste, Charles hands on his waist are gentle and soft. Vance’s own hands skirt over Charles’ ribs and he holds onto Charles tight to give him the reassurance he doesn’t outwardly ask for. 

There’s always a bit of hesitance in Charles eyes. Vance doesn’t really like to see it in Charles’ eyes but it goes away when Vance kisses him or pays him any sort of . Vance attention. Charles grips him tightly like he’s about to be taken away. Slowly Charles’ grip gets tighter as their time starts to slip away from them. Slowly four hours turn into three, three turn into two. Charles has wiggled his way on top of Vance, caging him down against the mattress with his body weight so that Vance can’t slip out of the bed. 

“Charles.” Vance mumbles half-heartedly underneath Charles’ cheek.

“Fuck Flint.” Comes Charles’ grunt from the pillow next to Vance’s ear. “He’s not worth it.” 

Noon comes along far sooner than neither Charles or Vance want, when they’re comfortable and and wrapped up together while trading lazy kisses. Eventually Charles allows him to drag himself out of their bed to adjust his clothes to look presentable. Charles watches him with hooded eyes, lazing back, propped up on his elbows as Vance stretches his spine.

“Will you walk me down to the beach then love?” Vance asks, tossing his hair up into a loose bun as he stares down at Charles. Charles rolls out of their bed and tugs his shirt back on, nodding. They walk down to the beach with their fingers brushing against each other. Flint is waiting for him with a launch, John flanking his left. 

Vance leaves Charles on the beach with a hug and a soft kiss to his cheek while they’re embraced. It feels weird, following Flint into the rowboat to head back to the Walrus. He hasn’t been on the Walrus in months, close to a year really. 

The others greet him with smiles and loud exclamations, patting his back and hugging him tight. Flint waves them off with his hand before they’re lead into the Captain’s Cabin where the account books and the inventory books, several volumes in fact, are spread out over the table. 

“So what exactly did you do to the books John?” Vance asks while throwing a glance over his shoulder towards John, who’s lingering by the door. 

“First of all, it wasn’t just me, Billy fucked up too.” John gestures with his crutch towards the deck as he complains and protests. “Secondly, what kind of fucking system did you put in place, it’s like a child did it?” 

“Right, Billy fucked up the system that he helped me create, I can believe that.” Vance retorts while flipping through the pages of the account book he’s picked up. “And to answer your question, it’s based on numbers, dimwit.” He throws the name in casually, playfully. 

John visibly bristles before he takes a step towards Vance. “I ought to-.”

“Ought to what? John.” Flint finally cuts in to their banter. John flushes and crosses an arm over his chest, the other still clutching onto his crutch. 

“Nothing.” John mutters petulantly, before he hobbles himself over towards the desk to take a seat. “Let’s get started, there’s a bit of work to do, not to mention we need Vance to organize the new books from the latest haul.”

The mention of work has Vance taking a seat at the table, still flicking through the pages. "Fine." He sighs as he stops on the page with the previous Mondays date. "Well start from last week and work forward, sound good?"

"Fine with me." Flint replies from the opposite side of the table. John, out of the corner of Vance's eye, shoots Vance's ex-captain a look he can't read before he turns his attention back to the cage and the mess his friends made.

 

* * *

 

 There’s a memory that Vance has, three months into his relationship—if it can be called a relationship while Flint sneaks in and out of his bed—and his time on the Walrus, that decidedly makes him think that Charles Vane and Flint are the same. The Ranger and Walrus’ crews are both in attendance of the tavern tonight, as well as stragglers from Naft, Lawrence and Hornigold’s men. Not even the quartermasters are allowed for this one, so Gates and Billy are sitting at the bar and Vance is trading barbs with Rackham while helping Anne braid her hair. Mister Scott and O’Malley are lingering at the door watching for trouble, and so far all seems well.

Then Captain Flint storms out of the room arguing with Eleanor Guthrie and Captain Vane is backing him up and most of the tavern is speechless. 

Later, he finds out, while Flint is laying on his stomach in their bed, his eyes glowing and his hair frizzy, that Eleanor had received a letter from her father, offering pardons for the pirates in light of the possibility of a new governor.

In their bed, he listens, as Flint explains that Eleanor wanted to accept them, for some god-awful reason. Vane and Flint protested otherwise, as did the other Captains.

Two days later, Flint leaves his room and Vance goes down to the brothel to meet Jack for a friendly conversation while Anne visits Max, Charles Vane sits with them and explains that he won’t ever give up Nassau for her to be civilised.

Vance can’t help but seeing parallels between the two of them.

It makes sense that almost a year and a half down the line he’s in love with them both.

  
  


* * *

 

Vance's promise to have John with him while he works on the books doesn’t hold up to the glare that Flint sends to John when he comes into the captain’s quarters with another account book-Vance doesn’t know why they have so fucking many, he only managed two when he was on the Walrus.

It starts out innocently enough with just the two of them, Flint sat on one side of table, while Vance flicked back and forth between books, checking dates and addings up on the other side, when finally he notices Flint's eyes tracking his every movement rather than Billy's neat penmanship on the page.

"Captain Flint." Flint jerks like he's been startled, his eyes flicking up to meet Vance's blue ones. "Is something the matter?" 

Flint rakes his eyes over Vance's features curiously before pausing. "You've got a…" Flint trails off, gesturing with the quill he has in his hand towards Vance's collar. 

Vance uses the reflection of a dark rum bottle propped on the table to look at himself. he can vaguely see a mark on his collarbone, barely hidden by his shirt. It's one Charles left on him while they were trading kisses in their tent on the beach.

"Oh." Vance shrugs and adjusts the collar of his shirt. "Sorry if it bothers you Captain." The mark is suitably covered up and Vance ducks his head back down to look at the books, running a finger over the swoop of a y in Billy’s handwriting.

Flint still watches him, while he scribbles numbers down and works through last week and this week’s profits. Eventually Vance looks up from the books, a revelation running through him as he flicks his eyes over the supposed total earnings of flint’s inventory.

“You’re being short-changed by Eleanor.” Flint snorts in disbelief, before reaching out for the paper Vance has done his mathematics on.

“What do you mean we’re being short-changed by Eleanor?”

Vance brings out his own personal account book, the one he keeps to himself for the  _ Ranger _ in case the book on the ship is tampered with. He removes it from his waterproof pouch before flicking through the pages, stopping from a haul from about a month ago. “Look here. We brought in very similar amounts of cargo, same type of cargo, tobacco and run, a bit of cotton. Should roughly translate to about the same price too.” Vance then turns his attention over to the account book he has and the piece of paper in Flint’s hands. 

“The numbers don’t quite look the same do they?” 

Flint glances at his working out, and then the account book, and then back to the working out before his mouth drops open in a disgruntled fashion.

“Wouldn’t it be because your captain’s been sleeping with Eleanor.” Flint says after a moment, but it’s weak to Vance’s ears.

“You put way too much faith in Eleanor Guthrie. Charles hasn’t been to see her in months. Besides she doesn’t like me much, cause I can run the numbers in my head and call her out on it. She hasn’t short changed us since Jack put me in charge of the books.” Vance taps his temple and chuckles. “Reckon she hates me quite a bit, but she doesn’t talk to me much, Charles won’t let her.” 

“He’s very protective of you.” Flint comments, his voice strained. Vance scrunches up his nose and eyes his ex-captain. 

“He’s my captain. Isn’t he supposed to be?” Vance says while sitting back down. They stare at each other in silence, until the only thing Vance hears is the clock next to them ticking obnoxiously. 

“I suppose you’re right.” Flint doesn’t meets his eyes and instead turns his attention down to the paper.

“I mean… He’s been good to me since I joined his crew, he’s good company.” Vance tacks on nervously. “He’s treated me well, fairly, if that’s what you’re worried about sir.” 

“I can certainly tell.” Flint mutters. 

Vance pauses, eyeing Flint’s disgruntled expression as the older man tries and fails to keep his attention on the books. SLowly, Vance moves around the side of the table and pulls up the seat next to Flint, plopping down into it and leaning his elbows on his knees. 

“Captain are you still mad that I joined his crew?” It is entirely a possibility, given how Flint was on the beach the day they had the vote.

“No.” Flint sounds almost petulant as he raises an eyebrow. “No I’m not.” 

“I told you why I left.” Flint presses his lips together in a thin line before nodding pointedly.

“That you did.” Flint murmurs pointedly. There’s a short silence before vance sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. There really shouldn’t be any fucking tension in the room but there is, and it’s unnerving. 

“Captain.” Vance starts, before he tries a different, slightly irritated approach. “Flint I don’t understand. I made my feelings clear, you couldn’t decide whether or not you wanted me so I left? You didn’t chase me and ask me to come back, you didn’t even bother to try, so why are you still sulking over the fact that I’m praising Charles for letting me onto  _ his _ crew!”

“I’m not sulking.” Flint snaps, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting back.

“Yes you fucking are!” Vance has never been one quick to anger, or irritation, but Flint’s eyes dart away to the window and he stays silent instead of answering Vance, and Vance sighs even harder before thunking his face into his hands. “You’re a fucking  _ god, _ act like one!” 

Flint stays silent and still, not even moving. Vance shoves his chair back and stands, frowning as he gathers up his things. “Fuck you and your neurotic, self absorbed personality. I don’t know how the fuck I fell in love with you.” 

Flint’s mouth falls open at that, green eyes wide. It almost makes him laugh, with how surprised Flint looks at the admission. Vance has to look away, mostly because Flint’s shock is slipping into a blank look of hurt.

“Vance.” Flint tries to say something as Vance backs towards the door of the captain’s cabin. “Vance wait. What do you mean?”

“What the fuck did you think I meant?” Vance’s voice cracks as he shouts. Surely Flint had to fucking know. 

“I….” Flint looks almost lost, shifting his weight between each foot. His green eyes flick between the door and Vance’s face. “I don’t know.” 

Vance doesn’t know what to fucking think. He tries to cycle over every single one of his conversations with Flint outside of them sleeping together of pillow talk, something that would explain Flint’s hesitance, his obliviousness. Nothing really strikes him, nothing Flint has said, nothing Flint has done explains any of it. “Flint you had to have known how I felt, seven months! I didn’t just sleep with you for seven because it was  _ convenient _ . God what the fuck did you think? I loved you, I still… love you.”

Flint looks like he doesn’t know how to respond to that. Flint steps up to him, his calloused fingers tremble as they brush against his cheek. Flint strokes the side of his face hesitantly, gently. Vance inhales slowly, his blue eyes searching Flints for any hint of expression. 

“You loved me, you still love me?” Flint whispers, like he can’t believe it. Vance sighs, his hand finds the one that’s by Flint’s side and slides his fingers into Flint hand, hooking their fingers together. 

There were sparks between them, they both know it. There still is. Flint scans his face, searching, hesitant before he leans in. It’s slow and it happens despite a voice in Vance’s head telling him not to.

Flint kisses him just like he remembers. There’s always been hesitance, but Flint kisses him like he wants it. Their fingers curl together at Flint’s side and Fint uses it to tug them close, so that their chests are a hair's breadth apart. The air sparks around them, it’s like a haze settles over them, a cloud. Everything feels right and wrong all at the same time.

Flint’s hand drops to his chest and presses absentmindedly over the mark Charles left on him this morning. A small voice hisses Charles’ name in the back of his head and it has him shoving Flint away. “I can’t…” Vance mutters. “Flint I can’t do it… Charles-”

“So it’s true?” Flint grumbles, darting his eyes down to the mark on his chest. Vance flushes, stepping back and lowering his gaze. “Eleanor said that there were rumours, that I shouldn’t listen to them, but they’re true aren’t they?” 

“It’s… It’s new.” Vance admits softly. “It just… happened when we went out for a prize Jack had information for.” 

“So you’re fucking him? Of all the people you could possibly start fucking, it’s Charles Vane!” Flint exclaims harshly. “What are you doing here then? Why bother with me if you’re off fucking Vane then.”

“That’s not fucking fair. Don’t fucking talk to me like I’m some fucking whore.” Vance spits. “I loved you first, fucking loved you long before I even had feelings for Charles. I fucking left  _ your crew _ ‘cause I loved you, and it’s not fucking fair.” He sends his account book flying towards Flint’s face, purely because he can’t fucking believe Flint would- he can’t. He fucking can’t-.

“It’s not fucking fair.” Vance repeats. 

Flint goes silent, staring at Vance with disbelief evidently plastered on his face. 

“You have to understand, have you ever loved two people at once, two people  who are so remotely different yet they’re both the same.” Vance shakes, there’s a flame of anger that’s sparking in his belly, barely there but already warming his blood. The light stops streaming in from the window, replaced by a grey overlay, a telltale sign of storm clouds on the horizon.

The Walrus’ account book abandoned on the floor where he’d thrown it, marginally missing Flint’s face. “Yes I have feelings for you and god I wish you’d realized that before all of this.” Vance flings his hands up in the air when Flint looks at him with an expression that he can’t read. “But I love Charles too. I love him and I love you and I’ve not replaced either of you with each other, but it’s not fair for you to fucking blame me.” 

“Vance that’s not what I’m trying to do.”

“But it fucking is. You were so fucking indecisive about whether or not you wanted me, then Charles wants me and does something about it and it’s my fault that I have feelings, that I’m half human and I fucking feel something.” Flint’s shoulders slump and he takes a step back.

“It’s not what I wanted.” Flint mutters. 

Vance doesn’t fucking know how it gotten so messed up between them. How everything has gotten so complicated when it had been a simple case of feelings between more than two people. 

“Then what did you fucking want?” 

“I had someone before, I loved them.” Flint says suddenly, breaking the tension in the room. “Do you want to know what happened to them?”

“No?” Vance tilts his head curiously, against what has to be the voice of better judgement in his head. 

“He’s dead.” Flint says bluntly. “I loved him and let him love me. I let him show me what being human and loving someone meant. I let him have me, even as I am and he wasn’t ashamed of any of it.” Flint’s eyes flicker towards the door of the captain’s cabin over his shoulder. “He loved me and he died for it.” 

“I…” Vance is speechless. He scrambles for words to say, can’t think of any that could possibly convey how the information has made him feel. 

“You don’t have to say anything.” Flint offers up.

Vance makes a small noise akin to a whimper and walks up to Flint, until he can look Flint in the eyes. “I love the both of you, love you just as much asI love him, love him just as much as I love you okay?”

“I can’t share you with Charles Vane.” Flint says softly. “I can’t share you with him,I can’t share you, I don’t  _ want _ to share you, not with him, not with the world, not with anyone.” 

“Flint…”

“James. My name is James.” Flint says gently. “I can’t bring myself to share you Vance.”

“There’s a part of me that belongs to you and a part of me that belongs to him.” Vance protests. “You’re not getting one wihout the other. Charles knows that.” A faint recollection of Charles’ conversation while high flits through his mind. “He knows I love you, fucking hates it probably, but he doesn’t go mad because of it.” 

Flint, James pauses like he’s thinking about it, eyes darting in the direction of Nassau’s shore then back to Vance.

“Vane knows?”

“He does.” Vance sighs, tension bleeding from his shoulders. “I’m not trying to hurt you, either of you. I mean that.” 

James nods and suddenly, it’s like the room clears of any bad blood or concern. “We should get back to the books.” James sits down at the table with a smile that has Vance’s heart aching. 

 

* * *

 

They finish the books with a new attitude in the next seven hours, it’s dark when Billy and Muldoon row Vance back to shore. He’s trembling now, shaking now that the conversation he’s had with James has finally sunken in and he realizes what the fuck just happened. Unsurprisingly Charles, Jack and Anne are waiting on the shore with torches, Anne’s hands poised just above her short swords. 

He’s shaking when Charles’ arms come around his shoulders and they hold him tight.

“You’re shaking darling.” Jack says from his right. He is, he’s shaking in Charles arms. Charles rubs his hands over his shoulders before taking Vance’s face in his hands and scans his torch lit face. 

“Vance what’s wrong?”

“James… Flint he. I.” His palms are clammy and his fingers tremble where they’re clenched into the front of Charles’ shirt. He lifts his head to meet Charles’ eyes, blue on blue and mutters. “We need to fucking talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Characters powers and alignments/supernatural powers:
> 
> Captain Flint - Lightning/Seas  
> Captain Vane - Fire/Land  
> Anne-Bonny - Storms/Seas  
> Jack Rackham - Fire/Land  
> John Silver - Ice/Seas  
> Billy Bones - Earth/Land  
> Vance - Storms/Seas.  
> Muldoon - Black Dog  
> Ben - Black Dog   
> Ned Low - Ice/Seas  
> Meeks & Holmes & the rest of Ned's crew- Sirens  
> O'Malley - Werewolf
> 
> Demi-gods are usually uncommon because usually gods don’t sleep with humans, under the circumstance to hide that they truly are gods. All pirate crews are filled with supernatural beings, selkies, shifters etc, no humans


End file.
